


News Feed

by MayAnny



Series: News Feed AU [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Controversial Topics, F/M Pairings mentioned, Family, Family Drama, Gen, Government Conspiracy, Historical, Historical Accuracy, Human Characters, News Media, OCs based on real people, Politics, Real World Problems, Slow Build, headcanons, many headcanons, nations discovered, nations revealed, no yaoi, probably, sensitive topics, tragic backstories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2018-08-30 04:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 137,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8517976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayAnny/pseuds/MayAnny
Summary: CIA messes up again and now the whole world knows about the Nations! Apparently, this only makes their tense international relations even worse than they already were, while humans adapt and wars continue as usual. -Heavily based on headcanons, focused on real-world problems and character development.





	1. May 9, 2015

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative Summary: "The Nations were discovered by the world because of a mysterious enemy. Now they must deal with the world's problems under the public eye and at the same time, not become the scapegoats of the whole world's issues, all while not causing a war." Heavily based on headcanons (some of which are based on facts&trivia), while focusing on real-world problems.
> 
> Companion Social Media fic: News Media
> 
> Rated T for swearing (with occasional f-bombs).
> 
> NO YAOI PAIRINGS! If you want shipping, you'll have to look somewhere else, because it is nearly everywhere else.
> 
> CAUTION! You may find issues that are controversial, which you might or might not agree with. Disagreements are welcome in the reviews or through a PM, HOWEVER, no Flames are accepted! If you want to discuss anything, be civil! I'm open for debates.
> 
> WARNING! Story from chapters 1-18 were originally written while I was still Left-Wing, and after that, I've changed my position dramatically, so from chapter 19-onward, it has a stronger Right-Wing bias that is noticeably different in tenor from all previous chapters. Many (maaany) details have been added or changed in all previous chapters to fit better with my current standing, but it should still be rather obvious from the themes. If you get triggered, simply leave.
> 
> Story has a SLOW BUILD-UP, with focus on the characters and on news or historic facts, plus my own view on certain topics in the Author's Notes, which you're welcome to dismiss if you want.
> 
> Grammar mistakes are fixed over time, but please ignore them. Sometimes my brain goes poof.
> 
> Many characters in this story will be used to represent real people, with somewhat different names or nicknames, and OCs are based on people I know personally or have talked to online.

**Washington D.C (UTC -4) 8:20 a.m**

_It was a really quiet morning…_

_._

The constant ringing of an alarm clock was what roused him from his sleep. An annoying shrill and America, the embodiment of all that represents the United States, thought it was justifiable to toss it out of his room and into the wall, leaving cracks on said wall and left-over bits of spring, glass, and wire that he would ignore for as long as he could.

For a few blessed seconds, it was completely silent. He groaned and sat up with a scowl.

It's been barely five hours since he'd laid down but it was certainly enough time for a Nation to rest… No, sleeping little wasn't the reason behind his crankiness, not really.

America yawned and pushed the covers off, drowsily making his way to the bathroom to wash his face so he wouldn't feel so much like a Walker from the Walking Dead.

The cold water on his face was so refreshing, and America sighed, hands on the sink as he leaned closer to the mirror. He could see the dark shadows beneath his blue eyes, something that's been present on his face for a few years now. Well, it wasn't like he wasn't the only one these days…

It was a look he's seen on his most stressed out citizens, those who worked too much and slept little. Those who had too many worries and little time.

He's a Nation, though. He's not supposed to have this kind of thing. Even if he  _stops_   _sleeping,_ with an endless supply of Starbucks, he's still not supposed to have this look. He knew there was something wrong… He's been having weird dreams again, which he couldn't quite remember, to be honest. It had to be connected. Every now and then they'd come back, so maybe his brain was trying to tell him something…

America scoffed and pushed himself away, leaving the white tiled bathroom and going to the nightstand beside the bed, grabbing his glasses, adjusting it on his face, then leaving the room while stretching his back and arms.

He would make himself some breakfast first. He would tire himself by thinking about his problems  _later_.

A good cup of coffee and some toasts would do the trick for now. He would visit a drive-thru later.

As the coffee machine and toaster did their job, America sat on the counter of the open kitchenette, head turning to glance at his living room. The coffee table in front of the couch was still littered with piles of papers. Just where he'd left them.

Work, work, work…

Many were letters, as he wasn't really allowed to share his only e-mail, which could be used to talk with his fellow Nations  _only_ , or so says his Senate and Congress. Those papers were reports from people who knew who he was, keeping him updated on the inner-workings of his government and on the actions of  _CEOs_  he wished to keep an eye on.

There were also bills, along with requests for favors and 'thank you' letters. Those were from friends, many of whom had  _no_  idea who he actually was...

The toasts were ready with a  _ping,_ followed by the coffee, so America quickly finished preparing his breakfast, butter for the toasts, sugar for the coffee, before sitting on the couch, the report papers and letters were now under his plate and cup.

His phone was on the table and he picked it up, seeing it ran out of battery. Of course, now he remembered that he'd left it there with its wi-fi on… He'd charge it later.

He left it aside and searched for the TV remote in the depths of his couch instead, first finding a  _dart,_  which made America shrug lazily and aim it at the wall near the TV, throwing it with practiced ease and nailing it on the eye of a particular magnate's picture. It was right beside other posters and pamphlets for some other corporations he had a beef with, all filled with more darts and one knife embedded on a picture of a politician he hated.

It's not that he hated business or entrepreneurs of any kind. He's always loved capitalism, and would  _always_  love it. It's just  _some_  individuals who got on his nerves…

There were other pictures as well, of politicians and lobbyists alike. They tended to get on his nerves too.

Satisfied, America nodded and continued his search, finding the remote buried deep into the couch for some reason – it probably gains sentience and moves on its own, considering how often it disappears – and turned on CBS Morning News.

He knew his media wasn't exactly sharp or helpful in many instances, and they tended to be overly hysterical and… well, he couldn't bring himself to ignore it when many of his citizens were watching it. The influx felt bigger because they've been talking about the  _election,_  the long and grueling process to decide who would be his next president began this year.

The media was already  _all_  over it.

It would be a  _long_  year with a lot of painful mental conflicts, as usual... But America would just push through, like he  _always_  does these days. But...  _she_  was running again. The thought made him grimace for a second, and he pushed it away with a sigh, shaking his head. The ex-First Lady scares him way too much for a human...

He dropped the remote carelessly, picking a random letter while munching on his toast. A small frown formed on his face. Right, this one was from Cuba… They've been getting along recently- well, not exactly along, certainly a lot better than 50 years ago, since they weren't at each other's throats…

Maybe there was room for forgiveness somewhere in this, even though Cuba still had a long way to go. It felt good to know the future could be better for him and his neighbor… He placed it back on the table, he would write back after breakfast.

He knew somewhere in the pile he would find a letter from Iran, too. Totally  _insufferable_  Nation, as he's always been to America, but not nearly as difficult to deal with, like his much-hated arch-nemesis, Saudi Arabia the  _P_ _est F_ _rom Hell_ … as America  _lovingly_  calls him in private.

America simmered, huffing in annoyance, but cooled down quickly. Iran's still an asshole, though… even if he and his new boss were cooperating with their 'deal'. America wasn't a fan of it, but at least they weren't having any arguments yet, and America wasn't about to start arguing with his boss either.

He scoffed, placing the letter back and focusing on the TV as he finished his toast, the droning sound finally making some sense now that he was paying attention.

" _-_ _immortal people among us?"_ America stopped chewing, blinking.  _"_ _It's early here in the US, but_ _social medias are on fire with the sudden leak of CIA documents_ _just last night,_ _describing details about a secret set of people they call 'Nations',_ _one representing each country of the world-"_

America nearly choked, forced himself to swallow, and then gaped for a second, his brain seemed to be having trouble registering what he was hearing and what it meant, so he continued taking slow and mechanic bites off his toast while feeling his heart speeding up.

" _-I gotta tell you, I read this thing an-and it almost sounds like they're inhuman!_ _L_ _ike,_ _something they don't even know why-or better how they exist or stay alive for, what, how long?"_

" _Said_ _they're born along with 'human settlements'? Sticking around as long as the country and government are there? I don't get it…!"_

" _Does the government has one for, like, 300 years or something? Do they even know about it? Are they dangerous?!"_

" _I-I don't know! We don't know!"_

Something finally snapped in his mind and America left the remains of the toast on the plate then ran to his room _,_  opening a closet – the doors nearly breaking off its hinges – and hurriedly finding himself some jeans and a jacket, no time for  _shirts_ … He would go with the one he was wearing. A faded blue T-shirt that said  _'They hate us cuz they ain't U.S'._

He also fished out a pair of gloves – no way he would go out there and leave  _fingerprints_  everywhere – and putting on his usual pair of military boots, not bothering to tie them or anything.

The gear he uses to carry a pistol under his arm was hanging on a lone coat-rack in the corner, he grabbed it too, adjusting it haphazardly before putting on the jacket and running out-Right, he forgot his coffee!

The TV was still going about it as he chugged it down as quickly as possible.

" _No word whatsoever from anyone in Washington, our calls have been dismissed-"_ America twitched but finished his drink. They better not utter  _one_  word without his permission…!

But there was no time for that, America left the cup on the table and ran. With a 'Hop', his surroundings changed to the familiar white halls of the White House.

Best ability ever, requires a lot of  _energy,_  but he was in no state for  _driving_.

He continued running, reaching the doors of the Oval Office, startling the two Secret Service agents who nearly pulled out their guns, but America ignored them and burst through the doors. "What the  _fuck_  was that?!" He snapped once inside, closing the doors behind him loudly.

The walls seemed to shake, too.

He caught his boss standing behind the desk, stopping his conversation with the CIA's Deputy Director in front of him _,_  who was quick to back away when seeing America. Rightly so, because America immediately hounded after him menacingly. "Just what the hell happened?!" He knew howling like this while looking completely disheveled made the man even more scared.

 _Good!_ He better have  _nightmares_  of this moment.

"W-we don't know, sir..."

"Oh, the CIA doesn't know!" America grinned mockingly, leaning closer to the man, making him back away to the side as the desk which was in the way of his escape. America only gritted his teeth at this. "This came from  _you_  guys! How the hell you don't know?!"

His boss leaned over the desk, sighing tiredly. "Calm down, Alfred. Yelling won't solve anything." He stated firmly.

The scolding tone made America flinch and back away, crossing his arms. He huffed as his anger simmered down. "Okay, okay,  _sorry._  Just tell me  _when_  did this happen..."

Mr. CIA exhaled in relief, pulling his white collar. "Well, sir, you see, it was 3:32 a.m, as the-"

"That long ago?!" America's eyes widened. "Why didn't anyone warn me earlier?!"

"You wouldn't answer the  _phone."_  His boss supplied crossly, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms.

America moaned in annoyance, hands rubbing his face under the glasses. "Damn cheap battery..." He backed away and sat on the couch, hand ruffling his hair even more. He then glared at Mr. CIA again. "How did you guys not notice  _anything?"_

"Ah, it was taken directly from a private server," Mr. CIA shrugged, eyes darting away, hands fiddling anxiously under his Nation's scrutiny.

America gaped for a second, his eyes wide. "S-someone broke in there…?! How the-What about the cameras?!"

"...They were blank."

America slouched on the couch, not quite believing it. Information was stolen from private servers  _inside_  his Central Intelligence, someone broke into it…! "Goddamn it… D-did they take anything else...?"

"No, sir..."

America stopped to digest this information. Nothing else was taken, so that means whoever got in just wanted this specific information. But there was  _no way_  someone managed this feat of stealth on their own… Nuh uh. Someone helped them, possibly more than one person too. Maybe a whole network. "They weren't working alone, that's for sure..."

He has  _traitors_  within his system. America lurched forward, hands clutching his head as he glared at the floor, the thought struck him  _hard..._ He already had plenty of rats who didn't work for the well-being of the country, but  _this_  was way beyond the line for him, on a personal level.

"Alright," His president started, interrupting his troubled thoughts. "Let's not mope around, we have work to do."

"Right..." Raising his head, America took a deep breath. "I'll do an  _extensive_ checkup on CIA for  _spies_ , and I'll move to the others when I'm done." He would check FBI after that, and all the other organizations that worked for the safety of their country later. It wasn't healthy to have any moles or spies in his government and  _n_ _o_   _one_  is better at finding spies than America.

He could tell when one wasn't really his citizen, or better yet for this case, when there were ill intentions toward him. In fact, he's a  _pro_  at it.

Mr. CIA adjusted his suit and tie subtly. "While that, we should keep the media in the dark." He suggested.

"And let them spread wild theories on their own?" His boss scoffed. "No offense, but that sounds worse. No one likes to be left with uncertainty." He warned.

America nodded in agreement. "With how fast things fly nowadays, I can't ignore this. They must be going crazy out there…! The whole world already heard about it, I'm practically the last to get sunlight!" America said shaking his head and tapping his foot in thought. "Just keep things at a  _minimum_ , stall them. I have a few spies to catch for now."

His boss frowned. "You're only  _detaining_  them, Alfred. Please, avoid violence."

America pursed his lips, averting his eyes, but nodded. "Of course." He answered curtly. "I'll just... let security handle it. Don't worry, this will be clean."

This didn't seem to reassure his president too much and David was giving the man a mild glare, too.

America had more pressing matters, though. Spies are like viruses, his kind doesn't really notice them until the damage is done. But America caught  _plenty_ of Soviet Viruses during the Cold War, this was no different.

Unlike back then, though, no one would be  _hurt_. He would do this with precision and efficiency,  _surgical,_  extracting the enemy without being noticed and have them  _questioned._  No harm done.

Well, either way, it would still be a  _hunt_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More context and information in the original News Feed entry on FF.net.


	2. Conspiracy Time

**Ottawa (UTC -4) 7:34 a.m**

Canada sighed, pushing the pan upwards and making the pancake fly up and fall back on the pan, while staring blankly at the wall in front of him. In his kitchen, he had a small TV on the counter behind him, where a disaster of epic proportions was being discussed.

_"-cuments' allegations affirm that these 'embodiments', 'Nations' as they call them, can't be classified as human, but were said to appear wherever any type of government was established with a population of any scale, so what do you think?"_

He couldn't find the strength to panic. It was one of  _those_  days, unfortunately.

 _"I think it's strange and bizarre, but… what these affirmations_   _are saying is that they appear whenever a new country is 'born', so, if they are as 'immortal' as it claims, they must still be around, eh? Maybe as part of our own government, and we never even knew-I mean, what do they even do? Do they tell 'the humans' what to do? Can they start wars if they want? What are we to them? This is all very dangerous thinking…"_

_"We'll keep you updated, but we ask for caution-"_

Canada winced lightly, feet in bunny slippers rubbing the back of his calves anxiously. He turned off the stove and flipped the pancake behind his back, where it fell on a semi-neat pile.

 _"It seems the Americans are in a flurry about this, no word from anyone in charge-N_ _o word from the Prime Minister, either,"_

Of course not, his Prime Minister wouldn't say anything until Canada bothered to show up in front of him, which quite honestly, was a bit of a task now. Canada sighed once again at the thought. He would much rather stay and work at home... He hoped his boss would visit instead of call, have some  _benevolence_ for the fact that his Nations hasn't been feeling all that energetic recently.

He knew his citizens were growing somewhat tired of his Prime Minister's Conservative Party. He knew they wanted something more... progressive. Canada has been feeling these small spells of laziness and apathy, and while his boss has expressed concern, he didn't seem to know what was causing it. Canada just quietly hoped the next Prime Minister would be able to fix it, even if indirectly...

He muted the TV, brows furrowing together. He could just  _hope._ That aside, he had other problems to add to the pile, which he didn't feel active enough to face.

He grabbed the little bottle of maple-syrup while opening the laptop he'd left on the table earlier, scrolling down the forum he found without looking at how much syrup was being sprawled on his pancakes. There's no such thing as 'too much maple-syrup'. He found often that sugar was the best remedy to his occasional cases of indolence...

When he first heard about the leaked documents before, though, he'd figured that it must have been running wild online before the News Stations picked it up. He was right, there was a lot of chatter online.

However, this particular forum was pretty old and somewhat active before, now it was on fire, questions and new users flocking in to check the contents.

An American archaeologist and historian by the name  _Steve Edgegard_  had been active online, claiming that his books were being snubbed by the government for uncovering a centuries-old secret… Sounded like your run-in-the-mill, paranoid conspiracy-theorist, except the man was  _right._

This was a shady sub-forum in the depths of the internet, where the first users were all very paranoid and secluded from the world in a way. The author found old pictures, letters, portraits in a tireless campaign across the world, surprisingly piecing together the truth.

Mind you, many of his theories were wrong, connecting to unrelated things and events, the only consistent theme being that there were people out there who 'never died'. It was basically the only proven thing the man has said. Anything else was speculation with no real proof.

The Great Wars of this past century had plenty of Nations caught on camera, as no one was too focused on keeping their presence a secret.

Across the most obvious evidence, Canada could see old pictures taken during the last wars, old and new alike. He could see his brother in those pictures from the First Great War, along with a few modern ones where America was undoubtedly caught on camera by coincidence in the midst of his war on Iraq's territory.

 _'He looks so angry...'_  Canada noted absently.

Moreover, there were a few portraits – Canada knew they were most likely  _taken_  without permission – of old European Nations with their monarchs, one of England, noticeably younger, besides the just crowned Elizabeth I, and pictures of him again near the current queen or during the recent wars.

Other old European countries had letters, maybe stolen from all kinds of people, written by humans who knew and were terrified or fascinated by Nations.

The man's trip to Egypt had also given him more clues, glyphs of the same woman serving different pharaohs were seen many times over. Again, pictures were probably taken without permission…

It was filled with similar content and the answers to said content were astounding.

Nations had no idea these many people believed this long before this leak... The responders were mostly people theorizing or trying to debunk it. To a normal person, all of this would look crazy and deluded, but to Canada, this was very unsettling.

The newest threads were made by the younger people who flooded the forum just last night.

_'These psychos were right. I feel stupid.'_

_'This looks like the kind of shit I would usually find everywhere on youtube, why is this theory so snubbed?'_

_'Government conspiracy. Learn the pattern. Read in between lines.'_

_'Lost count of how many times I've read the word 'nation' in many quotes everywhere in history. You can even find it in the bible!'_

_'Really? The fuck? Was everyone talking about these guys all this time?! Even GOD?!'_

Canada blinked, then squinted as the thought hit him. Now that he thought about it, this was a weak link in their secrecy... He looked away from the screen and ate away his breakfast, now covered in maple-syrup.

It's not that everyone who used their natural denomination – the word 'Nation' – knew who they were, it's more like their name gained a whole new meaning to people who didn't know, and it started being used as such…

He heard pattering coming from the living room and Canada leaned to the side, seeing a small polar bear cub by the doorway. "Oh, hi." Canada greeted sweetly, leaning closer. "Want some breakfast? I made pancakes."

The bear seemed shy, but trotted over to the chair where Canada had left a small set of stairs so the cub could climb and sit on a pile of books. He pushed the pancakes onto another plate and pushed it to the bear.

It glanced at him, sniffed the food, and started eating.

Canada tilted his head. "Now what do I call you..."

 _Chepi_  was old and died a few months ago… Canada didn't like to live alone, so as usual, he found another cub to take care, one that lost its mother and had no one else. He didn't have to worry too, he lived away from the cities. He just liked being close to nature.

The cub finished eating – Canada figured he would have to give it a bath later – and it glanced at him. _"Who are you?"_  It was the first time it spoke, and now he knew it was a boy.

Oh, how many times he's heard this from cubs, they didn't have the best memory yet... "I'm Canada. I'll be taking care of you now." He was ready to be asked about his mother, but it never came, the little bear just sniffed his plate again and Canada gave him a few more pancakes.

If a human were present, they would have heard a bear making bear sounds. Canada never had this issue.

It's not that he heard English words from them, he just simply knew what they  _meant_  to communicate. Just like they understood what he meant, despite the fact that he was using English to articulate his ideas, it's not that they understood English itself...

"Nanuq." Canada suddenly thought, nodding to himself. "I'll call you Nanuq."

Nanuq didn't seem to mind, which was good. Canada smiled softly and glanced back at his computer, smile dimming. Today would most likely be a big day for him, certainly. If Canada took too long to show up, he had no doubt his boss would come knocking.

Suddenly, he just felt  _exhausted,_  with a strong need to go back to bed and wait for this to go away...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More context and information in the original News Feed entry on FF.net.


	3. Parental Fussing

**London City (UTC +1) 9:37 a.m**

" _Online media is being incredibly quick to share this-as we know the leak happened not too long ago, however, despite the explosion of retweets and posts to the east, which has reached even mainstream media, there was not a single peep from the CIA-"_

England froze and narrowed his eyes at the door in front of him, not exactly seeing it as he focused on the radio chatter. He twisted the keys to lock the door and pulled it out, exhaling sharply. ' _What is that brat doing...?!'_ He snapped to himself, hand going inside his suit to grab his phone, which he was using to listen to the morning news.

He glared at it for a few seconds as anger built up.

He was just about to leave his house and head to the Parliament building, as he usually takes walks outside instead of just Hopping everywhere – unlike a certain American – only for the radio to interrupt him with this…  _wonderful_ revelation.

A leak from America's Central Intelligence – although England would often say his 'intelligence' has been 'leaking' for years, and now, it seems he suddenly decided to perform a  _lobotomy_  on himself, because  _that_  is most likely the  _only_ explanation to how the blasted brat managed to do such an incredibly stupid thing!

England gritted his teeth, hand clutching the keys before shoving them in his trousers' pocket.

He lowered his head, glaring at the ground, ruffling his hair in frustration, then turned off the radio and put it back in his suit, the wireless earpiece connected to it going silent. What he needed to do was to go and talk with his own Intelligence.

MI6 first, to figure out what the bloody hell  _actually_  happened, and MI5 later, to make sure whatever happened with America's agency wouldn't happen to his.

" _You look angry, England."_ A cat waltzed into his field of view, rubbing on his legs and purring. She was a beautiful black cat that visits him from time to time, and he often feeds her, too.

England turned and looked around, seeing a scarce number of people of this neighborhood he chose to live in for a few years, no one paying any attention to him whatsoever.  _Good,_  it means the information would be somewhat contained until noon, at best. He then glanced at the cat. "You would be angry too, in my position, Liz." He muttered, turning around and taking a few steps towards the ornamented mailbox by the gate.

" _Well, I'm just a cat."_

"Indeed." He observed the few people outside. It could be considered a completely normal day… "Not a care in the world, huh…?"

Liz jumped and perched herself on the mailbox, licking her paws while England patted her head. She stopped and glanced at him with clear blue eyes, her tail up and swinging lazily.  _"That fellah with the gold fuzzy fur was here just earlier, by the way."_

England blinked at the feline, raising an eyebrow. "What- _Really?_  Doesn't that man ever give up…?" He mumbled as he opened the mailbox, confirming his suspicions. There was  _yet another_  letter, along with a familiar pamphlet.

Byron, his lovely city's mayor, seemed very... passionate about this particular issue. England rolled his eyes and letting his thoughts wander away from the current problem his entire kind was facing.

It's not that he didn't understand where this Party was coming from, he thought as he spun the papers around to see the back. The Independence Party… He was dragged into the EU kicking and screaming by his leaders back then, literally, so he's always had a bit of a soft spot for the Ukip.

With it, he understood America's plight a bit better – that brat's tantrum was still unforgivable, though...

This whole referendum issue had a lot of considerable and irritating facets. His bankers liked bigger economies, and people who belonged to other Nations were living in the UK. What would he do with them? Would the other Nations demand them back? Should he kick them out? On the other hand…

He didn't like having men his people didn't elect dictating what to do with his country from the top of the EU, that on its own trumps all the other reasons, but there are all the  _immigrants_ as well…

England narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, his senses not catching the presence of any prominent politicians who thought they could follow him. They have tried such things before, in an attempt to walk with him to work so they could throw their ideas at him in hopes something would stick… But there was no one, so England walked  _back_  to his home with a tired deadpan.

Liz tilted her head.  _"No food?"_

England's expression softened and he smiled slightly as he opened the door again. "Sorry, but not now. I'm sure you'll find something else, though." Lucky animals, able to just ignore the politics of the world. Liz didn't seem to care, just licked her paws indifferently.

The events of this morning seemed to be divinely architected to aggravate him, with the worst grievances making a stand. He'd barely left his house and is now back inside, way to go. He left the keys in a little bowl on the small table near the front door, along with the letter and remaining mail. He would read those later.

Now, back to  _this._  He had yet  _another_ issue to deal with.

The secret was out...

A couple of decades ago, snuffing out something like this was  _easy_ , just throw some people in prison and have some religious campaigns, but now? England narrowed his eyes at the thought as he crossed his arms, fingers nudging his chin. The space shifted and he was inside the SIS, in front of MI6's Minister's office, Hammond's office, the man running his Secret Intelligence at the moment.

They needed to have a  _quick chat._

England cranked his neck a little, then pushed the door open with little elegance or care. "Alright, what the bloody hell happened?" He droned with a no-nonsense expression. There would be no small talk, he needed answers.

There were two others with the Minister inside the brightly illuminated room, but he paid them no mind, and went straight to Hammond, waving a hand in an attempt to clear out the cigarette smoke. Couldn't even open the windows, huh? England himself didn't smoke unless it was a stressful situation.

Honestly, he hates the bloody smell...

"Mr. Kirkland, England." Hammond stopped typing on the computer and nodded to him, one hand taking the cigarette from his lips, the other patting the documents inside a heavy blue folder, then he looked at the other two agents organizing cabinets, waving them out. They shuffled out wordlessly and quickly, closing the door behind them with a soft  _click._

Once alone, his eyes were back on England.

"It seems it was a spy within the American agency who released documents indicating your existence online around an hour ago, with your name and a few others here and there, but no pictures." That made England relax minutely. "It's spreading unusually quickly, though. Someone must be directing it."

England nodded, pacing with his hands on his waist. "No chance of blocking it, somehow?"

"It's far too gone now. Very efficient..." The man praised with morbid amusement. "Also... there were some scientific studies done in...  _1964_ ,"

Just a year after the assassination of one of America's favorite presidents,  _Kennedy,_  England noted with narrowed eyes.

"and a list of  _casualties_  with it." He reported almost bored in tone as he read over a paper, although England could see the man's eyes narrowing as he read it, sensing some cautious curiosity and interest from the man.

England frowned, tilting his head. "...Scientific studies...? Casualties?" He could feel his heart skipping a beat. Was this what he thought it was...? He shook his head. "Nevermind. We're having a checkup right  _now._ I'll read those later. I'll check MI5 later as well." He peeked at his watch under his sleeve, grumbling. "Then I'm calling America."

"He's getting sloppy." Hammond commented.

"Agreed. Let's close down for now, let whoever in and let me know who they are when I get back, but no one comes  _out._  Block the servers until I'm done. Just a precaution."

"Will do." No time for chit-chat, so England nodded and walked out, while Hammond typed on his computer as he grabbed the phone to get the orders out. The door was closed before he could hear anything.

England huffed in frustration, adjusting his suit and suddenly constricting tie – all black and white nowadays, and part of England missed the colored garments of the past – then continued to walk, keeping his senses sharp and alert. He just needed  _one_  look to know.

A loyal citizen felt just right, they had the right to  _be_  there. However, while tourists and visitors were just visible and easily tolerable, seeing a spy gave him that  _gut feeling,_  like seeing something so out of place or awkward, that made you feel somewhat violated by the invasive presence alone.

All very uncomfortable, but also impossible to miss.

America, despite being powerful, was still much  _younger_  than him, and there are some things that you can only grasp with time and experience. He would probably need to  _focus_  on an individual to determine whether they're trouble or not, which costs time, a few extra seconds that you sometimes can't afford to spare.

 _'Speaking of the git...'_  England had stopped by the elevator, deciding to use a normal route to catch as many people as possible within his line of sight. He would start from the bottom, and go up from there. England sighed in frustration as he pushed the button.

He wasn't sure whether he should be worried or not – not that he would ever admit thinking about it – however, Hammond mentioned 'scientific studies', and while England knew that boy was a  _big fan_  of all things science, he was hoping America wouldn't have let them... do anything  _harsh_...

Humans, from the poorest man to the holiest of religious saints, could be incredibly uncaring and  _empty_  sometimes. England knew from  _experience_.

The doors opened, he was inside and quickly going down, checking everyone who walked in, some of them raising a questioning eyebrow but remaining quiet, while others flinched when seeing him, awkwardly shuffling on the spot like a scolded child. Did they know what he was walking around for? Still, he paid little mind once he determined they were clean, no hidden agendas or anything.

They were just confused about his presence there at this hour. Or his aggravated mood might be the cause of their nervousness, influencing them through proximity...

On his way out, England was still running into a few people, agents going to and from their destinations and tasks, and he was keeping a close watch, eyes going from one side to the other carefully, but at the same time, his worries were gnawing at him.

This  _caring-thing_... was awkward even in his thoughts. Especially when America was in the picture. It's been like this since the Second Great War.

He ignored the younger agents looking at him as if seeing some kind of bizarre relic, and England only gave them a quick cursory glance before continuing – they always pretended they weren't looking, as if England couldn't tell.

He didn't find anything wrong yet, but he was far from done.

But anyhow... What if America did let them  _try_? Let them take his blood, test things, try to figure out how beings like him worked? What would that mean to everyone else if they  _did_  find something?

Well, England has yet to hear about a cure for cancer, or a rejuvenating medicine – as if they would just hand that out to the public – or any secret super-human initiative for the American Military – which America jokingly considered to be viable since that Superhero movie came out – so it was safe to assume they couldn't figure it out...

Which brought him to the next issue.

Did they find  _something else_  entirely? If so, was it related to the list of  _casualties_? He would have to ask America, but England doubted he would admit anything. America, much like a bratty teenager,  _really_  enjoyed his secrecy and privacy.

That didn't stop England from worrying, as parents never stop worrying – even when the kids are ungrateful paranoid twats with way too much power.

When England hesitantly stopped walking, he was in the middle of the SIS's lobby, which was surprisingly empty at this point. "...What were you  _doing_ , lad...?" He mumbled to himself, ruffling his hair, feeling a headache coming soon. This would be a long week of mind-numbing damage-control and awkward questioning.

They're in some pretty hot water now... Just another drivel to add to their growing list of predicaments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More context and information in the original News Feed entry on FF.net.


	4. Growing Distance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reader discretion advised, because I touch some topics that might be sensitive. Although, I should remind people that some of these things are from the characters' perspective, and they know only what they know or think they know.
> 
> But maybe, people shouldn't get offended so easily, no matter what I say. It's not that bad.

* * *

**Berlin (UTC +2) 10:13 a.m**

Germany blinked, shaking himself out of the sudden spell of absentmindedness.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly, hoping it would disperse the exhaustion. He shook his head and glared at the papers again, soldiering on despite the fact that he's been up for  _two days_  now. He would've been up longer, if it were up to him, but it seems his personal limits have been shrinking recently...

 _'Syrians, Afghans, Iraqis... More than half are_ men _, rest are mostly children, then least women... Why this disparity...?'_ He shook his head again, no need to be  _paranoid._  He's sure there's a reason, unrelated to the occasional surge of feelings that he was forced to quell. The nagging feeling in the back of his head was something he's gotten fairly used to at this point, but it was just the slightly invasive feeling of illegals walking into his land. Nothing more.

Something inside of him didn't like this, and he  _hated_  that.

Germany sighed, pen tapping on the desk.  _'They're just people seeking asylum... They're not invaders...'_ He told himself, once again. Many applied for asylum, but there were still many managing to sneak in, giving Germany that intrusive mental itch.

Everyone deals with illegal immigrants, however, the more there are, the less tolerable it becomes. It just keeps getting worse and  _worse_ , but Germany... he wasn't like he used to be, he wouldn't think like this.

Normally, he shouldn't even be dealing with all of this. But the numbers have been going up so steeply, that his government started to ask him to pitch in with all sorts of bureaucratic leeways. He would  _gladly_  do so.

He would be... welcoming. Yes, very  _welcoming_. Like a good Nation.

They're running away from a war, they just needed a place to stay. Maybe in the future, some would stay for good and even work, pay taxes, and be productive citizens. Germany exhaled as he stretched his hands and fingers. Yeah, that was the mindset...

Although... it would  _help_  if the others pulled their own damn weight a little more... Germany shook his head more harshly. No, no, he couldn't complain like this! The others... he didn't want them to think he was going down the wrong road  _again_ – _n_ ormally he didn't spend this much time thinking of these things, he needed  _sleep_  – he didn't need them to 'keep an eye on him'. He's learned his lesson, and thanks to America, he didn't need to  _fight_  anymore. He was economically powerful now, and he wouldn't ever let himself go to war again.

Besides, there's no greater restraint than the memory of  _America_  and  _Russia,_ two frightening powerhouses  _arguing_  about what to  _do_  with him and his brother after the war, pulling them both apart like pawns while not giving them a choice-

" _West?"_ Great relief, an excuse to stop thinking.

Germany heard his brother calling from somewhere downstairs and looked up from the papers on his desk, suddenly seeing the room he was in with clarity. He didn't even notice his brother was home, even though he should have felt his presence. "Ja?" He called back, getting up from his seat and leaving the room.

His brother lives with him now, but leaves often during the night, to do god knows what. Mind you, he could live somewhere else, but in truth, neither wanted to leave the other, not when the  _Berlin Wall_ was taken down not too long ago.

The youngest generation, they no longer remember the event, they weren't there. For them, it was 'a distant event in the past', but for the two brothers, it might as well have been  _yesterday_.

He was lucky his brother was even alive, and Germany would gladly share half of his land to keep it that way.

He heard his brother humming in thought when he walked down the stair, slowing down when feeling a bit of weariness and fatigue. He really needed sleep...

Once reaching the living room, he saw Prussia sprawled on the couch, who glanced at him, red-violet eyes narrowing and lips pursing. "You look exhausted." His tone was wary and concerned, but Germany ignored it.

"When did you get home, Bruder? And... please tell me you weren't sleeping on the couch again...?" He questioned with a tired tone. "Why can't you just use your own bed?"

"It was just five when I got here," Yes, how  _early_. "didn't feel like going upstairs, but never mind that!" Prussia waved his hand dismissively, sitting up and then pointing at the TV with his thumb. "Look what Amerika did _this_ time."

With a suspicious look, Germany sat down beside his brother, focusing on the TV as Prussia raised the volume.

" _-should we even be talking about the Nazi-Party then? We barely know what's going on, it wasn't even confirmed anywhere, but a lot of people are already asking if he or whatever still supports it. It's not even-"_

" _But wait, asking_ why _did he support the Nazi wouldn't be the same as asking why the German people did? It was most likely for the same reasons-"_

" _Maybe we should figure out what_ it  _even_ is, _before going in that direction? I thought they couldn't be classified as a human-"_

_"I don't think saying 'it' is very appropriate-"_

Germany took the remote and lowered the volume, slowly turning to his brother who had laid back down, his tone becoming clipped. "What is  _this_  about?"

"Us." Was the frosty response.

He raised an eyebrow. "Us?"

"Yeah,  _us_." Prussia sat up again, gesturing back and forth between them.

Germany's expression slacked as realization hit him like a bomb. "Amerika did- as in...?"

"Yup."

He was nearly gaping now. After a few seconds, he voiced his conclusion. "Did Amerika simply decide to make our lives a living hell...?"

Prussia scoffed, scratching the back of his head and leaning back. "They said it was a 'leak' from his Central Intelligence, but who knows with that guy?"

"What? When?"

"Oh, just now."

The media works quickly... "You really think he did it on  _purpose..._?"

"Who. knows." Prussia repeated tersely.

Germany took a slow, deep breath, eyes wandering aimlessly. His mind jumped ahead in time. How long until they started asking questions? How long until he was blamed for the wars? How long until he was accused of being a murderer, a Nazi, an anti-semitic,  _everything_...?! He gulped, but tried to remain stoic.

With the way Prussia cast a skeptical eye at him, he knew he was failing to do so. He was probably thinking about the same things. "Hasn't your boss called yet?"

Right, he quickly remembered he'd put his phone on mute, just so he could continue working in peace. He took it from his pocket to check. Several missed calls. "Tch... This is the last time I leave it on mute..."

"Ha ha." Gilbert never missed the chance to laugh at someone, but it came out as distracted and unamused, with his eyes focused on the TV. It wasn't like he needed the sound to read their lips and understand what they were saying.

Right when he changed the settings, he searched the  _Missed Calls_  list. No Italy. Of course not...

Germany licked his lips in apprehension, but ultimately pressed the  _Call_  button. He should-No, he  _wanted_  to check. It rang and rang. He was taking an awful long to answer... Germany got up from his seat and was going up the stairs when the call was answered.

" _Ciao, Ludwig,"_ Italy used his cover name, so there were humans nearby, overhearing the conversation. Germany frowned. Anyone else would confuse Italy's tone for a pretty neutral one, if not mildly cheerful, but he knew when Italy was being curt.

Germany ignored it. "Italien. Where are you?" He kept his tone serious, walking into his room and closing the door, before sitting behind his desk again.

" _At the Mediterranean. Why?"_ Of course he was in the middle of the sea. He's been in and out of ships scouting around that area for a few weeks now.

He sighed, pushing these thoughts aside. "I don't know if you heard yet, but information regarding our existence is out in the open. I figured you would be out in the sea, so I thought I should check. To make sure..."

This seemed to shake Italy out of his icy mood. _"W-what? H-how so? ...No one's looking at me..."_  His tone had turned rather quiet and hushed, and maybe he was walking away from other people.

"Check online, I don't know if there are pictures or names yet, but for precaution, you should stay away until it's safe."

There was a soft gasp. " _But-but we can't just pull back out of nowhere...!"_ This came as a harsh whisper. _"I'm not like_ you _, I can't just abandon people who need help...!"_

...Ouch... Germany winced at his words. He nearly told him how he was  _already_  bearing more than his share to help, but held his tongue. There was no time for arguing now. "I know, Italien, I  _know_..." Germany tried to be complacent, not wanting Italy to start yelling in a place where he could be easily cornered. "I  _meant_  to say you should try and avoid drawing attention to  _yourself_  for now. Just call your brother, since he hasn't called you yet. I'm assuming he doesn't know, either."

" _Oh... S_ _ì._ _I'll do that..."_ And he was back to short answers.

"Ja, take care..." He ended the call with that awkward feeling, as usual these days. Talking with Italy has been such a  _stressful_  task for the last couple of months...

The reasons just keep piling on. Refugee Rescue Operations were one recent reason.

Italy had his own plan at first, he was eager to help, and he was rather successful, but he didn't have enough funding to keep going. He was beyond furious when the UN took over the task and yet managed to let so many die in shipwrecks of all things. It is almost as if he thought they were doing it on  _purpose..._

Then his solution was to go personally. No ship carrying a Nation could ever  _afford_  to sink, otherwise...

Germany didn't want to think about the political onslaught Italy was capable of when truly and genuinely  _pissed off –_ such a rare sight that was – because any Nation could run their mouth completely protected by anonymity, and the things Italy could share with the world weren't exactly legal. Nations knew things that could ruin people, companies, even governments.

Italy couldn't be arrested, though, and he hasn't been happy with his fellows UN members, not for weeks now. Germany didn't want to be in the middle of this feud anymore. At worst, Italy would get other governments to be very  _discontent_  with his own for not controlling their Nation.

Especially the American government, who are very strict about Nations running their mouths.

Germany leaned back in his chair, eyes wandering around the ceiling for a second before he looked back at the papers on his desk again. Right, he had a  _very_  serious problem to add to his list of  _other_  serious problems. He would think about Italy  _later_.

Nations needed to organize, and they needed a plan. Sooner or later, this was bound to blow up in their faces, so they should be ready. They needed to contact everyone as quickly as possible without drawing too much attention, without moving too many Nations around, and without moving too much digital media.

Therefore, it was time to schedule an emergency meeting. The sooner they got this out of the way, the sooner they could go back to the  _real_  problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More context and information in the original News Feed entry on FF.net.


	5. Mandate of Heaven

* * *

**Zhejiang – East Coast (UTC +8) 5:34 p.m**

_Su Long_

_Xu Mingguo_

_Wang Ming_

_Cheng Chuanping_

_Ni Fa_

_Lin Jihuang_

.

.

.

China frowned as he elegantly struck a line across the last two names with a brush in black ink.

He tilted his head, reading over the list again. Corruption charges, bribery charges... the last two,  _arrested_ , and removed from office  _and_  disgraced.

With a sigh, he dropped the notebook filled with names on the floor beside him, leaving the brush on its delicate rest where the ink wouldn't mess anything. He should be working on the table, the one coffee table beside him, but honestly, he was fine on the wooden floor with a few pillows.

...This wasn't supposed to be his job, pointing at suspicious crooks within the government. He scoffed and leaned away, positioning himself in front of a plasma TV with his legs crossed in a meditative manner.

He picked a controller, and pressed a button, resuming from where he had stopped before this 'daily spy work' took him from his comfortable morning routine.

There was an explosion, but not from any threatening source, instead, it was from the technological marvel in front of him, and China continued focused on the task of shooting every enemy on the screen through the small controller in his hands. "Oooh... maybe I  _should_  lift the ban on you, my digital friend..." He mumbled to himself – regretting how long they kept videogames banned from his country.

They were just as fun as PC... Damn America and Japan, and their wonder-inventions...

There was a musical buzz from somewhere. China rolled his eyes and paused his game again, taking a second to pinpoint the location of the sound.

It was a phone, so he quickly muted the TV, picked the phone he'd left under the small table to the side, flipping it open and keeping it in between his shoulder and ear as he resumed playing. "Nǐ hǎo, who's this?"

" _It's me, brother, Nihon."_

"Ah,  _Wa_ , my savage little brother!" China kept his tone falsely bright.

There was a sigh.  _"Please stop. I already apologized..."_

"Shi, of course." Yes, Japan did apologize for his equally savage humans' behavior during their Wars. Well, China still 'cared' about his little brother, but damned if he didn't test his virtuous patience. "What do you need?" China paused his game again, in favor of focusing on this conversation which was bound to be short, as usual.

" _Have you_ _turned your television on today_ _?"_

China blinked at the TV in front of him, then his eyes darted to the game console, then away from both. "I do not need such useless appliances in my home. I can relax on my own."

He's lived thousands of years without them, after all.

...He just didn't need Japan to know he enjoyed them.

" _Of course. I just thought I would warn you that our secret was exposed, and it is all over the news. Jaa nee."_ The line went dead, and China blinked.

After a few seconds of silence, he picked up the remote, and changed channels, going through each, only to find... everything going through their programs as usual, and the news channel... talking about something he really didn't care about. Weather...

Japan doesn't just lie for his own amusement, so something  _did_  happen. He tapped his chin with the remote in thought. Why did he have a feeling America had something to do with this...?

"Aiya... This again." He moaned in annoyance, laying down on the floor, head on a pink silk pillow, and facing the ceiling. He flipped his phone open, an 'old' model he was used to, and called his president, Jin, mumbling angrily. "Don't you  _dare_  not pick up, because if you don't, I'll go there myself and you  _won't_  like that..."

 _Finally_ , someone answered.  _"_ _Zhōngguó...!_ _What is the problem?_ _You don't normally call me._ _"_

China knew that hesitation. Someone didn't want him to know  _something_. "That is what  _I_ want to know."

There was a pause. _"There is nothing wrong, Zhōngguó."_

"Jin..." China intoned warningly, his eyes steadily glaring ahead at the ceiling. His president continued before he could say anything else.

" _Now, Zhōngguó,"_  China scowled in annoyance. The man adopted the tone one would use when talking to a particularly insistent child.  _"Whatever you heard, I assure you, it's_ not _true, and it's none of our concern. It's all 'Western Media' issues,_ _and you shouldn't get involved with it_ _."_ The nerve...

"Western Media." China repeated, eyes narrowing. He suddenly flipped the phone closed, leaving it on the floor, then swiftly stood up, hands brushing across his usual traditional red garbs.

Then his hand came crashing down on a big desk as the space around him shifted, startling his president still with his landline phone in hand as he stared at China with wide eyes.

"Don't you  _dare_  quote 'The Seven Dangerous Western Values' to me! I know  _all_  about  _Western dangers!"_  China nearly felt the need to slap the man across the head for the impertinence, but held back with a mighty effort. Hitting  _children_  is no longer socially acceptable. "My existence has been revealed, has it not? Why lie? Have some respect for your elders, xiǎozi!"

Jin recoiled on his seat. "A-apologies, Zhōngguó! I simply did not want you to worry yourself with such issues...!"

China's expression relaxed, as he sighed, nodding to himself. "Forgive me for my harshness, Zhǔxí, but I've heard such excuses  _many_  times over." He calmly leaned on the desk, one leg half over it. "That's not  _proper_   _conduct_ , I'm sure you know."

The man visibly blanched, but tried to cover it with a scowl. Still, China could see that startled twitch. "N-now Zhōngguó, let's not be imprudent. Your  _Mandate_  is not necessary, we're fine. We're a prosperous community, and you don't want to ruin that." There was a slight tremor in his voice.

China avoided rolling his eyes. He hasn't felt  _prosperous_  in more than a century. At least not with the type of prosperity he remembers fondly. " _I_  am never imprudent, Jin, merely whimsical. My  _Heavenly Mandate_  has taken dynasties down for lesser reasons."

"We are  _fine_ , Zhōngguó." The man repeated, this time, harsher and less patient. Jin leaned forward on the desk, fingers intertwining on the surface, tension leaving his shoulders when China merely shrugged. "For all we know, this is a trap."

China scoffed lightly, which almost sounded like a laugh. "A trap that would endanger their own secrets as well. Please, they're not  _that_  desperate to get rid of me. Yet..." Then he glanced around the desk, peeking around the papers in a way that made Jin sneer a bit, much like a snake, but not nearly as threatening. China paid him no mind. "This has happened once, a long time ago. It was more localized, mind you, but I just disappeared for a few decades until they forgot about it. Hm... I doubt I can do the same now..."

Jin perked up at that, China could feel that cunning excitement just below the surface, and this time, he rolled his eyes. How obvious. "Why not? I'm sure the others would like the idea, and it would certainly convince the world that it was a hoax."

Reasonable, but not feasible. With the  _Net_ , things are bound to spiral out of control, especially with Nations like America, new blood who probably wouldn't want to disappear. Also, he knew the man just wanted  _China_  gone. As if he would ever give him that satisfaction. "I'm sorry, Jin. You're not getting rid of me that easily." Oh, the way he pouted – it looked that way to China – made him want to pinch the man's cheek, just to annoy him.

He's done it once.

China shook his head. "Just open the News to this."

Jin raised an eyebrow, pulling the papers from China when he started reading them. "You're letting this spread? This is not exactly... wise."

Humans constantly question his thousands of years worth of wisdom... China is pretty much a professional at ignoring them. "I understand. However, I'll just wait it out. One day, it'll be forgotten again. Until then, well, I am nothing if not adaptable." With that out of the way, China stood up, walking past the desk and out of the man's sight. "Also, try to be less of a  _h_ _úon dàn,_ Jin..."

An ass, that is.

China was gone before the man could yell at him, back in the quiet space of his palace in the mountain. Well, a  _small_  palace, rather hidden from the humans, but still relatively close to a small town. A few hours and steep climbs away.

One glance at the gaming console and China knew he wasn't in the mood anymore – Jin had this incredible ability to sour China's mood instantly – so he opened a big window instead, letting the late spring air flow in. Normally it's great to live near the lively cities, but China prefers when his lungs aren't constantly  _burning_.

The coast tends to be much fresher, and it was particularly windy at that hour. So he took a deep breath, only to cough with the effort. Not quite fresh enough when so many cities are covered in smoke and smog... It seems to follow him, no matter where he is.

China sighed, ignoring the slight burning pain slowly subsiding. From his window, on the highest tower where his living room was, he could  _almost_  see Korea, Japan, and a bit further to the south, little Taipei – or 'Taiwan', as she likes to call herself.

China's upper lip curled lightly at the thought. Kids these days... He crossed his arms over the windowsill, letting the wind blow at his face. There was also his  _youngest_  little brother... How long since he's last seen the little one...? China could feel the bitter taste of longing, but pushed it aside quickly, controlling his emotions with little effort.

He still had his other children. He couldn't see Hong Kong or Macau from there, much less any of the others, younger relatives of his, but at least they were inland, close to China... even so, Hong Kong was another little hooligan just like his sister, if not worse – it was all Britain's fault for raising him all wrong...

Now he's a greedy little punk, who thinks he can do everything on his own.

China frowned, hand propping his head up. How were they doing, anyway? The news must have reached his kids and family before reaching him, no doubt. Hopefully, they wouldn't do anything stupid.

The wind had a change of mind, blowing his hair across his face suddenly, and China hummed in mild annoyance. It seems a storm is coming... He was about to back away and close the window again, when something near the frame caught his eye.

Something snagged on the plants growing along the wall outside, a blue fabric, and China pulled it delicately to avoid ripping it.

A small, dark blue banner, with white and bold letters, 公民, ' _citizen'_. "Huh..." China huffed softly, placing it down and straightening the band with his hands.

The New Citizens' Movement.

What were they doing near his palace? China frowned. He didn't need to look around to know that no one was nearby, and no one has been nearby for a quite some time now, so they must have stopped by during the morning, when China is usually out.

But why? Did it have anything to do with this new development?

A member of a civil society movement should be busy planning new protests or ways to attack the government, not visiting remote locations in the East mountains. Although Jinping would have a stroke if he knew those anarchists, as the man called them, were hounding around China. He folded the fabric neatly, focusing on it.

It belonged to someone named _Huang Shu_ , a very young man who lived nearby – China has been able to tell such things through touch alone for some three thousand years now. A useful ability to have.

They don't normally carry these banners around, they could get arrested if caught with one. Then what was little Shu thinking...? "Free, righteous, loving..." China murmured as he looked at the gathering clouds, slowly darkening. It's their motto.

Reminds him of  _another_  motto, called loudly by the Franks' boy and his people two centuries ago, before they were  _beheading_  their monarchs and aristocrats.

Funny how things always circle back to  _this_...

China shrugged to himself. Well, either way, things will change, Jin will fall, reform will prevail, and fate will once again hand humans the  _same_  cards. Change and repeat. Over and over again.

Maybe China will intervene once again, striking down like nature's wrath, as he's done many times in the past, replacing dynasties whenever they failed to uphold the proper conduct of an Emperor, disappointing leaders to be removed, leaving the ignorant masses to wonder if the  _Mandate of Heaven_  wasn't a myth after all.

Or maybe he will stand by and watch. Let the humans sort it out.

"...Either way, I'll live on..." China sighed with a calm smile, backing away and closing the window as the first thunder flashed through the clouds, keeping the banner in his hands. Experience was telling him he would need it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More context and information in the original News Feed entry on FF.net.


	6. The Main Source

**Kyoto (UTC +9) 5:17 p.m**

"So...? What do you think, Honda-dono?"

"Hmm..." Honda-dono, or Japan, as he humbly preferred to be called, cupped his chin, the other hand running smoothly over the shiny alloy of the car in front of him. "It does look nice." Then he crossed his arms.

"Hai, we're 100% sure it will be a hit, and it would be an honor if you were to support us in the market."

He continued to walk around the vehicle with a thoughtful frown. There were other people walking by them, a few quietly ogling the brand new car, and the convention was bustling enough at this hour. Bright lights and mildly loud music, with enough people to make Japan slightly uncomfortable.

But as an investor within his own economy, he was willing to soldier on. "How efficient was it in the tests?"

"Superbly. Here are the run-downs, great suspension, balanced drivetrain, the very top in aerodynamic design, our engineers are particularly excited." The man was wearing a bright white suit that nearly made Japan grimace when he first saw it, but Japan politely refrained from showcasing these thoughts as he was handed a clipboard filled with numbers and percentages.

A familiar sight, honestly. He's spent many years studying many forms of technology, and did well in investing on everything that he believed to be helpful. Cars in particular.

He often didn't admit how much he enjoyed driving a good car. While safety is the most important goal, he might have indulged in a certain  _vice_  that wasn't particularly safe, a few years prior. The feeling of speed and adrenaline, the midnight runs, the pride in a unique vehicle that anyone in  _that_  circle could recognize a mile away.

Racing was where the  _real_  fun was. But that was just a phase, or what America called his 90's phase...

He left that aside, like a responsible Nation, preferring to personally invest in automobiles instead, and his  _human_ _name_ was relatively well-known – which forced him to create extra cover names and back-stories to explain his youth.

The prestigious heir to the Honda line – nothing to do with the actual  _Honda Civics,_ as he had to clarify more than once – just another insightful investor which just as much success as his 'father'.

Japan nodded, handing the clipboard back. "Looks good, Hiroshi-san. But I'm concerned about the company's... misconduct." Japan barely finished his sentence before his hand was grabbed in a pleading hold that made him jump.

"Please, Honda-dono, I understand that our management has been rather deceptive in our reports to keep sales up, and I apologize  _deeply_  for their greed, however, I beg you to not lose your trust in us. This shall  _never_  happen again."

Japan only smiled politely, snaking his hand out of the man's grasp. "I understand, I wish to trust your administrators, but you must see it from my perspective, I-" He felt some people approaching, but ignored it until there was someone tapping on his shoulder. He blinked and turned around, finding a small group of young humans, around 17 to 19 years old.

Maybe college students? They all looked rather  _hesitant_.

"S-sumimasen..." One girl asked tentatively. They were... curious? It was a probing feeling, like they were trying to get something out of him, an information perhaps.

"Hai, can I help you?" Japan straightened and asked politely.

"...Could you please tell us your name? Was it Honda... something...?"

Japan tilted his head at the question. His name? A few had their phones in hand, not high enough to be  _recording_  anything, and were all looking at him weirdly, like they expected him to do a trick, or something bizarre.

"I'm Honda Kiku, it's, uh..." He would have bowed, except he saw their eyebrows lift in surprise, all at the same time.

The girl in the front of the whole group 'ooh'ed at him, taking a step back. Another boy behind her stepped ahead of her. "Is it really  _Nihon...?!"_

The moment Japan heard his  _actual name,_ he knew it was about  _him._  His shoulders squared, all sounds stopped. He stared at the kids with wide eyes, and it was probably rude to stare so much, but something in him seemed to be panicking, and rightly so. He took a step back, which apparently confirmed something, because they all looked like they wanted to say something, leaning closer.

" _...Tochigami...?"_ He heard one mumble in wonder and that word alone struck such a sore memory that Japan backed away even more.

Still out of the loop, Hiroshi-san came to his rescue. "Excuse me, children, you're making my investor very uncomfortable, so could you please-?"

"No, wait!" One of the boys said, but Japan had already taken several steps back and was now somewhat hidden behind Hiroshi-san who was taller than him.

"Just answer a couple of questions, please!"

Japan gulped and broke into a cold sweat. "H-Hiroshi-san, w-we'll talk another time, I-I need to go...!" He pulled his phone and walked away brusquely while searching for his Prime Minister's number – why didn't he have this memorized already?!

He knew they were probably trying to follow him, and Hiroshi was doing a good job at keeping them there – the man was particularly strict with children – however, Japan needed to  _disappear._

He needed to Hop out of there, so a bathroom would do. Deeply ingrained manners were the only thing keeping him from running or even jogging, which only made his nerves fry even more quickly.

Once inside the bathroom, he finally broke into a sprint, darting into a stall in case someone was following him. Once the door was closed, he sat down heavily on a couch, everything was suddenly quiet as he was already back home where he could see the Tokyo Tower from his living room's window, his darkened apartment illuminated by the orange rue of the setting sun.

He let out a long sigh of relief. Was someone actually following him there? He didn't know and he didn't care.

He sat up and was about to press the call button, but stopped. There was someone else calling him? He had left it on silent, as he didn't want it to bother him while talking to anyone. He knew this fellow, a budding investor was calling him.

Why?

Japan winced lightly. He had a bad feeling about it, he didn't want to answer... So he left it ringing silently.

What happened? Why did those kids call him by his given name? How did they know...?! Did other people know? Did they find any proof? Some old painting? Some old diary where his name was mentioned?

No, he and his government, past and present alike, have a very strict hold on anything that could prove his existence. Why, oh why would some kids know anything? The only place where information passed quickly enough to evade their watchful eyes was...

He blinked and looked at the hallway that led to his bedroom.

Online.

They found something there, didn't they? This was bad... Maybe it has even reached humans who knew him personally... Japan eyed his phone, shuddered, then got up from his seat and stalked towards his computer. Maybe if he just called Shinzō-sama... his Minister would have answers, but... at this hour he was probably busy... His phone stopped buzzing as Japan sat down, and soon it was buzzing again, with another person calling. Hiroshi-san.

Oh, what did they tell him...? Japan shook his head, not wishing to risk having a very awkward conversation.

He didn't need to bother his Prime Minister when he himself didn't have enough information yet, did he? Probably not. So Japan sighed, set his phone down beside the keyboard and started searching.

He would start with... his name _._ English would probably be a primary source, but just as he expected, he got Wikipedia and travel guides. Japan tapped his chin. How about starting with the obvious?

_National embodiments._

Scarce news, published mere minutes ago, but it was there. Too recent, and yet, it was right  _there_. He was even afraid of clicking on those. Japan sat back and took a deep breath. Where did it come from? What happened? He inched closer again, scrolling down and finding a link to a blog mentioning it.

Big and bold letters greeted him on the most recent post.  _Found this on WikiLeaks!_

Of course.

Japan bit his lower lip, familiar with this particular organization. America was their favorite  _target_.  _Understandable_ , which is why he was incredibly paranoid with security, and their secret was certainly under top-notch lock and key! But still, they managed to get it. How...? Japan typed another address. There was a website that published their findings, and as expected, there it was, on the front page.

_**Featured** _

**National Embodiments Chapters**

_The searchable and highlighted texts of CIA documents, scientific and military reports, and personal entries of agents and scientists concerning the existence of the alluded 'National Embodiments' of countries within the governments of the world._

This is it, this is where it was coming from, right?

It was tragically  _ironic_  how often America was targeted by his own people, but not only that, he still had all sorts of external sources against him.

He has once lamented over his younger population's lack of trust in his government, and while he admitted it was warranted and understandable, it still hurt. Japan knew the feeling, of a citizen just incredibly  _disappointed_  in you... A Nation would have a hard time finding something that hurt more than that self-loathing that followed it...

Apparently, some of America's young citizens had a tendency of attacking him at any chance they had with this disappointment and anger, and WikiLeaks sources were huge providers of information that could be used.

America didn't like them,  _at all._

This time, it affected all other Nations. Japan could call him, but the time zones, it must be around four or five in the morning for his friend. He would just send a text message...

Who else knew about this? The further west, the less sunlight, maybe no one in western Europe knew yet. He would have to call everyone, even his brother... Japan grimaced lightly at the thought. The last thing he wanted was to talk with his brother, but he knew how censorship could leave him oblivious for a little while...

Which could make things worse for everyone else...

Japan shook his head. He would think about this later. Now he definitely needed to contact his Prime Minister and organize a  _response_. Japan knew when something could attract attention, like vultures to the dead, and this would definitely be a perfect opportunity for those who dislike society as it is.

Young Anarchists, political parties looking for a chance to grab the power they lacked, and many others. This is just another round of ammunition for them, but now, Nations would be caught in the crossfire.

Anonymity would no longer be their shield.

With renewed energy, Japan intertwined his fingers and stretched. He wanted to know how these people even  _got_  this information, what other resources they had, and scout deeper into the darker networks of the Web, to find any methods used by those who not only attacked America, but all Nations with this stunt.

He just hoped the others had some kind of plan ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More context and information in the original News Feed entry on FF.net.


	7. Brilliant Ideas

**Washington D.C – White House (UTC -4) 11:43 p.m**

_"_   _ _So, this whole thing really surprised me, but it did stir my creative spirit. If we had to__ _imagine_ _ _what the embodiment of__ _America_ _ _would__ _look like,_ _we have a few options here. He could be a fat guy, always with a huge Big-Mac full of grease in one hand and a Starbucks coffee in the other, waltzing around Walmart on a motorized chair, and be the one most likely to promptly shoot you if you disagree with his political views,"_

Laughs, lots of laughs.

 _"_   _Or maybe a shady suited guy wearing sunglasses at night, with a penchant for eavesdropping on other people's conversations and who could be behind_ _your_ _door or tapping on_ _your_ _ _phone at any given moment, but don't worry, he's with the government..._  _ _ _,"__

More laughs.

 _"_   _Or maybe... We've always seen him, because he's always been very famous, just like we suspected, as if 'Captain America' wasn't enough 'in your face', he's been looking suspiciously young for a while now..."_

Laughs, but this time with a lot of applause and whistles.

 _"_   _Oh, yes, but in all seriousness, we don't need to guess, because it's obvious. We all know... that the embodiment of America... is yours truly."_

"HA! Hahaha!"

"Please pipe down, Alfred."

"Holy shit, sorry!" America sat up on the couch, breathlessly trying to recover from his fit of laughter as he muted the TV. "Do you have any idea how much I  _wanted_ someone like Steven Colberts to make a joke about me like this?! Finally got that squared away!" He shot his fist upwards. "I gotta thank this guy somehow! Send him a 'thank you' letter!"

America had finally found the time to rest after a whole day of spy-hunting, and there was no better relief than laying down under some thin but comfy covers and watching TV. Which is the very first thing he did.

His boss, the man who America had casually nicknamed  _O-Man_ , smiled at his enthusiasm, but looked back down to the papers he was reading. Ah, work. America happily excluded himself from working, as he was busy with something  _else_. That is, resting from his stressful day. "The Senate wouldn't be too happy about  _that_. Although, I'm glad you're in such a better mood now. Mr. David will have nightmares."

America huffed, laying down as he laid on his side, hand supporting his head. "As he should! I had to check  _everyone,_ and it took me all day long! Can't believe I actually found some shady people,  _lurking_ around Homeland Security personnel and in the CIA's headquarters like a bunch of  _cheap lackeys._  And we don't even know if one of them is the whistleblower! Johnny's taking care of that…" The CIA Director had assured him that most likely, the Nation's intervention wouldn't be necessary.

O-Man had, after all, explained to Johnny why he didn't want America anywhere near those  _activities._ The man gave him a cautious look, stopping his work. "You're not helping them out with the questioning, I hope...?"

America stopped as immediate guilt struck him, then he answered with a shaky sigh. "No, I… I don't do that anymore, remember?"

He could hear the man letting out a huge breath, in relief. "That's good. You might not notice it, but you sound much happier these days, compared to six years ago. That time in college did you well."

America hadn't felt happy or proud for a long time after that fateful attack, nearly 15 years before. Understandably, he was in a dark place, and what followed it, the wars and the hunt for the one responsible didn't leave him any better off mentally.

The fact that he'd been pulled out of Iraq's territory, forbidden from working directly with the CIA in questioning suspect terrorists, and confined to 'Vacation from War' despite the 'War on Terror's' ongoing campaign, turned out to be a great relief to him. He was told that maybe relaxing and studying in a calm,  _safe_  environment would be the best thing for him.

"I know, I know." America felt some body-tremors hitting him, although it had nothing to do with his country. Back then, the war couldn't just  _stop_. But America felt much better now that fewer soldiers were dying and less money was being wasted, it actually seemed to lift some strain from his mind and body. Even his allies stopped giving him cautious and asserting glances, as if expecting him to snap.

America had been so focused on his war that he'd lost touch with his own people, ignored them, ignored their cultural shifts, ignored his country. Guilt and self-loathing was all he had left once he was back home, after years of warfare. His newly elected boss wanted to 'fix' that, in a way. So America was left alone in a college to study and learn with his young citizens.

He thought that maybe he should just focus on his own people for a while… He did, he focused on them for the first time in years. With  _this_  new development, with his name on news, maybe he would finally be able to help his citizens personally, even more than he was already doing. Now, he could finally address his growing  _cultural problem._

His young… He worried a lot about the little snowflakes…

He sat up, drawing his knees up a little, and tapping his chin with the remote. "Well,  _a_ _nyway_ … Where could these people be coming from? It's almost like a  _cult_ cropped up out of nowhere..." As if he needed more of them.

"They must be spreading online. Can't say that was never one of our worries... Or maybe it's coming from an already existing group?"

America shuddered, rubbing his arms dramatically. "Scientology…? Goddamn, those guys scare the crap out of me..." Finding a way to get rid of them  _legally_  was always a New Year's Resolution of his, these days. Creepy people...

"We didn't rule them out, yet, but I have a feeling we're dealing with something... ah,"

"Something less psychotic, demented _,_ delusional?" America responded with a deadpan.

O-Man only shrugged, indicating he had no better words himself. "More organized."

America groaned, rubbing his eyes. "So, an organized group, spreading online, using the WikiLeaks as a primary medium, since there's no way WikiLeaks folks managed to  _break in_  here, so they're out..." They're a bunch of hacking nerds, after all. He nudged his chin in thought.

Information about Nations tended to be left in private servers that could only be accessed manually, not hacked from the outside, but while there were other important things hidden in there too, intel on the Nations was the only thing stolen, as far as they were concerned.

America feebly cursed his huge territory. If he were smaller he would have noticed illegals  _with_  ill-intentions sneaking in. As it is, his senses can't reach everything at once.

It seems the more space and people he has, the harder it gets to keep an eye on trespassers. America guessed it was worth the sacrifice in the big picture, but still...

He laid down again, facing the ceiling. But still... he can't ignore the fact that it would have been easier if whoever did this had done so somewhere  _else_. "Hmm... Why  _me_...?" He contemplated as he stared at nothing in particular. "Why not go somewhere where it's easier to break into...?"

Why risk it with him?

"It would be a stronger political blow to the American government. Isn't that why you're usually the target?"

America groaned, covering his face with one of the cushions, muffling his voice. "Then it's not just about  _us,_ _Nations_... There's more to this. It's like they think I'm the antichrist…!"

"I thought that fell on me?"

America laughed out loud. Yes, the O-Man has been accused of being the devil  _more than once._ But his laughter faded and turned into a long whine. "...Why do they  _hate_ meee...? I know my record is not the best, but I just wanna  _help_  and I'm  _trying_ _-!"_ The rest of his monolog was muffled and nigh incomprehensible.

It was good to blow off some steam.

He didn't mind sounding incredibly childish in front of his boss, too. Fortunately, the man didn't try to placate his stream of gibberish, he was venting after all. With a tired sigh, after running out of curses, America looked over at the TV again, and after a few seconds, slowly, his eyes widened as  _something…_  popped into his head...

He stayed eerily silent for a full minute as his mind worked. "...A 'thank you' letter, huh...?" It was that feeling of a sudden realization, hitting you so suddenly that it was liberating, it felt like an  _epiphany_. So America sat up, hugging the cushion. "Idea." A grin slowly stretched across his face.

O-Man gave him a cautious frown.

"Idea, idea, idea... I just had a  _great_   _idea!"_ He threw his arms up with the enthusiasm, along with the cushion, which nearly hit a shelf and a vase near the door. It wobbled on the spot before settling.

A few seconds of silence. "...I can see that... Care to enlighten me with your brilliant plan?"

"Nope!" America's smile stretched in a way that most people might describe as 'wicked', maybe downright 'menacing'. An old habit his boss  _really_  didn't like. "But it would be  _great_ if you could keep the Congress and the Senate off my back for a while…"

"Alfred, I don't think-" The man's tone was hesitant.

"Also, I gotta Hop back home and get some stuff out, for safety..."

"Alfred." Now it was a warning.

"Just for precaution!"

"Does this plan of your include you or your apartment getting  _attacked_?"

America hesitated for just one second, raising a finger up then pointing at his boss like a gun. "You gonna have to trust me here...!" He winked.

"Maybe if you weren't trying to keep it a secret, I would feel more inclined to do so."

Maybe if his boss didn't have so many rich friends who hated his guts, he would be more inclined to do so. "No, no, no! Just  _trust_ me! I know what I'm doing! Pleeease!" America pleaded, approaching the desk with his hands clasped together, as if begging.

The man still looked skeptic, arms crossed and eyes narrowing.

"C'mon...! Just this once!" So America tried his old tactic, the classic wide doe eye and lip biting that always caught England unprepared. Admittedly, it worked better when he was a little kid, but it still works wonders with his own people. It got him to hesitate. Perfect. America continued with an even more extravagant dramatic flair. "You never do what I ask you to! Just listen to me once,  _please!"_

O-Man sighed, relaxing a little. "Is this one of  _those_ moments that made George Washington describe you as an 'utterly brilliant child' in his journal...?"

America stopped with the theatrics and nodded with a grin and a blush. "Oh, totally!" Kinda awkward, but still really flattering to remember that Georgie thought so highly of him.

"...Really?"

"Yeah! Sometimes, I just amaze myself." America smirked smugly, rolling his eyes. "I'll be using my usual room downstairs, mum's the word!" With that, America ran back to the couch, turned off the TV and ran outside before three seconds had passed.

* * *

**Taipei – Presidential Office Building (UTC +8) 9:26 p.m**

Crouched by the window in her room – a special one made just for her – Taiwan watched her citizens walking to and from places curiously, but had yet to see anyone looking up at the windows.

Not that she expected it. She really,  _really_ didn't...

However, the amount of time she's spent mingling with internauts wasn't for naught.

She took many pictures to show people, but also wrote a lot, spreading some nationalism and spurring protests whenever China managed to piss her off somehow – but always kept her face hidden – and now, she knew  _exactly_ what was going on.

Honestly, her bastard of a  _stepfather_ was probably panicking! He's been in the shadows for so long, that he probably couldn't even  _imagine_  this scenario.

Or maybe the information didn't even reach him at all!

The thought made her snicker.

He uncle, Japan, though... Taiwan's mood quickly turned somber, her lips curled at the thought as she turned away from the window, sitting with her back facing it. Japan certainly knew about this already. She wondered if he was panicking... He's always been prone to hiding his emotions, but he's been rather expressive lately, especially compared to years ago.

Back when she'd first met him officially, he was much less prone to  _any_  kind of expression.

She didn't really like thinking about him during those years. Well, he might have been a terrible authoritarian on her land, but he never mistreated  _her,_  and he's much kinder nowadays...

Her other uncle, Korea, wasn't treated as well as she was, so maybe she should count herself 'lucky'. The thought made her scoff. Japan had just fallen for the imperialistic urges – something China described as a natural urge for any Nation  _powerful_ enough...

But nevermind that, it was in the past, and as much as Taiwan abhorred those memories, humans are happier when Nations forgive each other. So she did, and found herself with a loving uncle, better than any other older relative.

Taiwan sighed, standing up and sitting cross-legged on her bed with her phone, where she browsed what her followers were saying. These particular followers were very nationalistic, and that alone made them very special to her.

' _What does Mei-Mei think of this?'_ There it was, the cute nickname they gave her.

' _Has anyone ever even met this personification nation thing?'_ Taiwan huffed. 'Thing'? How rude...

' _We're not totally independent yet, so maybe we don't even have one? In that case, do we get independence if we get one? And in_ that _case, how do we get one?'_ She cupped her chin. Now that was a bit more complicated… They already had her, but there was still no independence, because  _China_  was a mother-hen who wouldn't let go of her, much less treat her like an adult...

She pursed her lips in thought.

With this huge change coming, their citizens would undeniably get involved in their business. They would ask questions, they would see the truth, and they would know what happened in the past in a whole different way.

All of that... unnecessary  _anger_ and grudges and past conflicts that were still fresh to some Nations would be under the spotlight soon.

Taiwan winced and looked away from her phone. Honestly... maybe this was better. Maybe those old geezers would hold back if their citizens' eyes turned towards  _them,_ for once. Any Nation would care about what their precious people say.

It could be a powerful  _leash_.

The more she thought about it, the better it sounded in her head. Maybe if they  _knew…_ _maybe..._ She blinked. A lightbulb could have popped over her head, because she had an  _idea_. A coy smile was on her face.

A trigger… She needed to do something that would make sure she would be  _heard_ , in a way that would encourage others to do the same, but at the same time, get a good image on her. She needed her  _supporters!_

Yes, this was perfect...! Her smile became a grin. She needed to check with her boss, but she was sure he would love the idea of showing the world how truly independent she is.

There's no way people wouldn't absolutely love her. She's adorable, she knows it, and she doesn't mind using it to her advantage.

Her smile was bright and excited, as she bounced off her bed. In front of a dresser with a mirror, she adjusted her looks with a comb quickly, then pointed a camera to herself. There was a flash. Perfect...

Taiwan grimaced lightly when looking at it. Well, maybe a second shot would look better… She sat down in front of the dresser to get dolled up. She needed to look  _perfect_ for this.

Either way, this week would be a great time to go out there and express some thoughts… Yes, it's time for her to be  _Taiwan_. No more  _Chinese Taipei_  nonsense.

She could smell  _independence_ and  _international recognition_  in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More context and information in the original News Feed entry on FF.net.


	8. Home Sweet Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found out that something did happen in May 9, in 2015, the date this story starts... It was kind of a big deal? It was the Victory Parade in Russia, commemorating the WWII victory. US and Britain stayed away, but some others were there, including China... Also North Korea was invited, but rumors say he decided not to go because Russia denied little Kim (the 'president', more like 'dictator') 'special treatment'. Ha.
> 
> So I'll just ignore it. I don't like it, but fixing this thing costs more than it's worth. For now at least.

**Moscow – Kremlin Senate (UTC +3) 1:20 p.m**

"Hmmm..." Russia hummed, kneeled on his spot behind the couch where his president was sitting. "It makes me feel sad when Amerika fails like this..."

"Because he beat you?" Was the casual response.

"Humiliating..."

"...Agreed."

Neither sounded all that engaged in the conversation as the News reporter talked about this event. It was held back for days, before his president simply 'opened the gates' very suddenly, and now it was all over the televisions and newspapers. "Hmm..." Russia hummed again, as a question popped into his head. "Why didn't you keep it censored?"

After a few seconds, his president replied easily. "I didn't feel the need."

That gave him pause. Then, it hit him. "Ah," Russia smiled, voice lowering in volume. "You think I can't ever hurt you if many people know about me being here?" He giggled at the thought. "That's not how it works, and you know it." The man was facing the TV, so Russia couldn't see his expression, but he was probably had the deadest deadpan possible.

He does that often.

Well, this was fine, Russia wouldn't actually do such a thing, his boss was just a bit paranoid, he didn't mind. And he would be able to make fun of Amerika with this, so that's a bonus. "Right! I forgot!" Russia stood up. "They invited me to a meeting again! Maybe they aren't mad about Sestra Ukraina anymore...?" He crossed his arms in thought, face scrunching into a thoughtful frown.

"I doubt it." His president turned, just enough to see Russia from the corner of his eye. "Although, I'm curious about some of the contents of this leak. Maybe you can find out what  _exactly_  the CIA got out of Amerika in 64."

"Yes, 34 dead humans. Amerika must have felt so guilty!" Russia's steps were nearly skipping as he stopped by the window, where he could see the inner garden inside the enclosed Kremlin Senate. It was more like a fortress, Russia remembers when it was being built in the 1700's...

"The results, Rossiya." His president stressed, but Russia's smile widened. One would swear the room became colder, and he always could tell, because humans and Nations alike always started shuddering – although, his president didn't really 'shudder', ever...

His hands intertwined behind him. "You need not worry. They didn't manage to get anything. Stalin didn't get anything, and neither did they." That made the man turn to look more directly at him, his arm resting on the top of the couch. Russia continued. "I'm also pretty sure I know what happened." He giggled again, this time more quietly before he turned, sitting on the window frame.

His words made his president narrow his eyes in a thoughtful frown, fist clenching.

"I'll check on my sestra, then I'll go to Bern for this meeting, so please don't be quiet about this. I can't wait to hear what you have to say about me, da?" Russia tilted his head to the TV with a smile, before jumping off the window and leaving his president to his own thoughts.

When his feet hit the stone ground, a  _big_  house on the outskirts of his territory was in front of him. It was closer to the north, secluded and close to nature, where humans didn't go all that often unless they wished to die a slow and cold death. It was great for when he needs some time off or for when he has many guests at the same time.

His smaller home in Moscow certainly wouldn't accommodate everyone.

At the top, he could see the EEU flag, gently being pushed by a flurry of wind and snow. The Eurasian Economic Union.

He wasted no time pushing the door open, and judging by the tiny crack he heard, he might have pushed it too hard, and might also have heard a high-pitched squeak from somewhere upstairs. "Where's everyone?" He called cheerfully and he pushed the door closed with a loud  _'bang'_ , but his eyes darted from side to side, as if expecting an attack.

Maybe he should have tried being quieter at first.  _'Is she home...?'_

"Rossiya!" A voice spoke, as a brunette head popped out of the hallway that led to the kitchen. He had a welcoming smile. "Welcome back! I'm making lunch!" Not quite as tall as Russia, but close. He was eagerly offered a plate that smelled wonderful.

"Ah, forethought. It's good that you think ahead, Kazakhstan." Russia picked the plate, eyes wandering as he ate, but stayed on the spot.

Kazakhstan continued to smile, albeit rather hesitant at his silence. "I-Is it good? I have some vodka, or maybe you would rather have tea now?" He was usually afraid of his food not being satisfying enough.

Russia shook his head. "Nyet, it's okay. I'm just checking things here." Kazakhstan brightened and gave him an OK sign with a hum of understanding, then quick as he came, he disappeared inside the kitchen again. Russia nodded at his enthusiasm, and moved to the living room, checking the occupants while bringing a fork to his mouth, before making his presence known. "What about you two?"

The serious one sitting with his knees up on a comfy chair, similar-looking to Kazakhstan, but a bit shorter and less childish looking, was writing in a notebook, he twitched when called, as if the sound had broken his concentration, but otherwise remained apparently calm. "...Welcome back, Rossiya." Dull-sounding as usual.

The other occupant was sitting on the floor behind the coffee table in the middle of the room, with a chess board set. She seemed to be contemplating possible moves, using the left hand for the Blacks, and the other for the Whites.

Russia ignored the lack of vocal greeting as usual. "Good day, Armeniya." She only looked up at Russia, nodding and waving shyly, but her eyes locked on the plate of food he was holding. Russia blinked, looked down at it. Confused, he offered it to her, which she quietly took before losing her mind to the chess board again, this time, accompanied by the occasional bite of food.

Russia's smile dimmed, but otherwise didn't say anything. He turned to the other instead. "Where are my sisters, Kirgiziya?"

Kyrgyzstan looked up again, then pointed to the ceiling. "Ukraina is upstairs, and I told Belarus to go get some firewood. You have 10 minutes at best."

Did Russia ever mention how much better these little guys are, compared to the Baltics...? Yes, Russia finds them much more... cooperative and thoughtful. They're not necessarily his  _territories_ , they just have an economic alliance, they're his  _friends_ , good friends, but Russia wanted them to visit from time to time and stay for a little while, so they could get to know each other better.

They would most likely be going home now, with this new development...

He didn't mind Belarus, she's calmed down recently... just a little... and wasn't as clingy as she used to be, he was glad for  _that_ **–** her current president never liked that worrisome mentality of hers... Although she's calmed down, she still glared and frowned at Armenia often, even more when she invited Russia to play chess with her.

And Ukraine... Russia sighed and Hopped upstairs to save time, forcing a smile and barging into his big sister's room.

He saw Ukraine yelp, dropping a basket full of yarn. She stood stiff, fidgeting and staring. "Y-yes, Brata Rossiya?"

"What were you doing up here?" He asked innocently, tilting his head.

"J-just knitting, Brata..."

"Hmm, okay, no rebellious thoughts, alright? You're safe here." Russia's smile widened as he emphasized his words with an admonishing hand wave, as if she were a disobedient child, but didn't let his sister speak before he continued. "Anyway, I've been invited to a meeting again! Isn't it great?"

Ukraine blinked, her tired eyes squinting, shook her head quickly and gave him a hesitant smile, taking a step closer to him. "Y-yes! It's great, Brata! What's... what's it about?"

"Well, you see, Amerika messed up, and now the whole world knows about us!" He spread his arms as if this was good news, and Ukraine's eyes widened. "You're still not allowed to go  _out there_ , your country is still a mess, but warn the others after I leave." He would prefer if she stayed away from her messy home at the moment. She's better off with him until she's safe.

The last thing he wanted was to see her hurt.

"Amerika...?" She muttered.

"Yes! He used to be so  _lucky_..." He sighed, leaning on the door frame. "Maybe he ran out of luck and now will crash down." His smile was tight, the thoughts of the not-so-distant past tended to make his insides churn uncomfortably. But he pushed it aside. He would meet the  _Boy King_  later. "What do you think they'll say about us? My Prezident will say something, but I'm not sure what..."

Ukraine sighed heavily, as if having difficulty with breathing, her closed fist resting on her chest as she took steps back, until she sat on the bed. "D-do you think he'll... Brata Rossiya, I don't think he really likes  _you_  that much... I mean..."

"Hm?" Russia tilted his head in confusion.

"Do you think he'll say something to make the humans hate us...?"

For a few seconds, Russia thought about this. There wasn't any reason for his president to  _not_  like him. They got along just fine, and while Russia liked to annoy him  **–** he wasn't the most patient human out there, but Russia didn't care  **–**  he let the man pretty much do whatever he wanted, as long as it didn't bother Russia himself, as Russia had... little patience for human leaders trying to hurt him... and he didn't  _feel_  anything wrong now...

In fact, the man got Ukraine to live with him again, and got his new EEU and his new friends, so that's a point for him. He also helped Russia recover after right after the Socialist system fell and everyone left...

Well, he liked the man. Certainly much better than the last guys...

Still, if he were to make things difficult on purpose by pitting  _his_  humans against him... Russia smiled at the thought. "If he does that, I'll make him regret it! I'm sure he knows that, so we don't have to worry!" His sister only shook her head again, her eyes then fixing on the ground.

Did she look more tired than usual? Has she been sleeping or eating? Russia hoped so.

Well, this is a matter for another time. Now he had a meeting to attend. It would be  _fun_  to see everyone again. "Don't forget to warn the others, okay? And don't tell Sestra Belarus I was here!" Were his last words before closing the door loudly, quickly Hopping to a place where he could catch a flight to Bern.

Ukraine only sighed, her shoulders dropping. "Yes, Brata..." She looked down at the yarn on the ground, kneeling and placing each inside the basket again, with a noticeable slowness and lack of energy.

It hurt, all the time. She couldn't imagine what was happening back home, she wasn't there to help her people, and her brother didn't seem to care about her pain. Either that, or he simply couldn't  _see_  it.

A part of her wants to live happily with her brother. Another wanted everyone to stop fighting, and wanted her brother to leave her alone and never look at her direction again, leave her be. This was killing her, and she just wanted a way out, to go home and be free, and have everything the way it was... Ukraine sniffed, with a shaky sigh. She didn't know what to do...

Even with this new unfolding event, she doubted anything would truly change for her. Her little brother was too lost, and as far as she was concerned, his people didn't care about her suffering.

Maybe she should give up on him... What was 'family' to beings like them, anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More context and information in the original News Feed entry on FF.net.


	9. Imperial Support

**Tokyo – Imperial Palace (UTC +9) 7:32 p.m**

Dinner was relatively quiet to Japan. There was a mild chatter, but nothing intrusive to his thoughts as he poked around his food with the chopsticks.

His mind continuously reeled back to the problem at hand, which was the foreboding fact that sooner or later, everything would fall apart for him. He wasn't able to find anything concrete when looking for the culprit... He only reached dead ends, with no actual information on this elusive enemy. This disappointing turn of events led him to his current cloudy mood, as he already knew that only  _one week_ was more than past the point where there's no turning back.

Too many people already knew about them, and the fallout would soon follow.

"It's going to be fine, Nihon-sama..."

Japan sighed, continuing to stare at the food on the plate he held. Normally this could be seen as impolite, but considering everything that's happening, and the tenebrous future Japan expected to face as an individual, he did have the right to sulk, didn't he? "I'm not so sure, Ai-chan..." His princess... She was 14 years old, and still sat beside him whenever she could.

She's always been sweet like this...

She was to his right, and to his left, was little Prince Hirohito, trying hard to not make faces at his food, but still diligently eating all of it. His two older sisters were beside him, trying to not say anything about it, holding back smiles.

Ai's mother right beside her, Crown Princess Masaki, gave him a sympathetic smile, and her husband, Natsuhito, had his eyes on the smartphone on the table – he really wasn't supposed to have that there, but this  _was_  an informal dinner... A small family dinner.

Which is why not  _all_  of his Imperial Family was present. Only the Emperor and his wife, their two sons, each with their wives and children. Of course, Japan was part of the family as well. Tradition often dictated that he should raise his heirs, and he's been doing it for generations now, although, the current Crown Prince and Princess decided they wanted to raise their child themselves...

Japan couldn't say it didn't  _hurt_  a little, but he understood. His more conservative citizens certainly didn't... Maybe that's why he felt somewhat bitter about it.

The eldest human in the room was on the seat directly opposite to Japan. "Please, do not cower, Nihon-sama." Emperor Akishito spoke, his voice resonating in the room and across the table. He had his wife beside him, a regal and quiet woman, who often even served tea to America whenever he visited – he always accepted it without complaints, but Japan usually had to drink it for him, as America absolutely refused to actually drink any tea... "You need to be ready to be held personally accountable for your war crimes."

Japan flinched, wincing slightly. Even his Emperor acknowledged his crimes. But of course he did, he once apologized to many other countries on his behalf, years ago. Especially to those under his rule during the Great War. Heh, not so 'Great' after all...

Japan sighed. "My purest  _regret_  is not nearly enough to be accountable for anything. It will  _never_  be enough... I was harsh, callous, and overconfident, and I've paid for my actions  _dearly_." He gritted his teeth at the sudden memory. "Although..." His posture sagged. "some might say I haven't paid enough..."

He and Emperor Hirohito were both to blame. However, Hirohito has left this world, years ago, and now, Japan would be the sole bearer of his country's sins. All of them. His once allies would fall under this scrutiny as well, although, Japan couldn't help but think Italy was the least deserving.

"Are you  _afraid_  of repercussion?" His Emperor challenged. Everyone's attention was ping-pong-ing between the two of them now, remaining respectfully silent.

Japan frowned. Repercussion? Was he afraid of being  _trialed in court_  for his countries' crimes? No, it's not that... He shook his head. "The Amerikan people might have...  _reservations_  against my friendship with Amerika-san, now that they know conflict happened between the two of us like  _this_." No. He was more afraid of losing a friend at this point...

"Ah," Hirohito's father, Prince Fumito straightened, as if he'd just realized something. "Will this hurt our economy and trade with Amerika?" His wife pursed her lips, he did barge into the conversation, after all.

The Emperor didn't seem to mind, though. "It will hurt our bond. Trust, it's what is most important, in  _any_  type of relation." He responded, nodding sagely.

"B-But how can they ever trust me now...?" Japan looked down at his food once again, placing it back on the table. It was most likely cold at this point. "I cannot  _lie_  to them, and say I didn't approve of the attack against Amerika's harbor, or that I did anything to avoid the cruel mistreatment of prisoners or their executions, or about _everything else_. I did nothing! What about our people? What will they think of the one who approved the-!" He stopped, admonishing himself when noticing his voice was getting louder and louder.

Both kids were looking at him with wide eyes. He meekly tried shrinking away from the two, feeling like they were too  _innocent_  to be anywhere near someone like him... But he had no space to move and the constriction made his skin crawl.

Japan shook his head, hands massaging his temples. He did his very best to forget,  _forgive and forget... forget, forget, forget,_  but sometimes it just comes back and hits him in the face again...! It's sometimes difficult to ignore it when he  _looks_  at America, and Japan knows that America feels the same.

Both of them do their best to push past it. By ignoring it entirely.

The Emperor scoffed bemusedly, chopsticks neatly together on the chopstick-rests beside his plate, indicating his finished meal. "I remember you when I was a young boy. You were stiff, always armed, always alert, never smiled or showed any form of emotion..." Japan's brows furrowed as he listened, feeling shame sprouting inside. "It would have been appropriate for human soldiers to behave as such. However, in your case, that on its own should have been heeded as a clear sign that something was  _deeply_   _wrong_  with our country..." His voice was raspy with controlled emotion, but Japan could hear it clearly.

Japan intertwined his fingers, eyes darting to any direction other than the man, while his Emperor leaned forward as he took his cup, his wife serving him more sake.

"I saw you  _change_ , Nihon-sama. Just like this entire country has changed, you have changed as well. You shall face all accusations with  _honor_ , and you shall prove to them that mercilessness to you is the same as mercilessness to  _all of us._  The past shall be remembered, the dead mourned, but our new generation is blameless." The elder gestured at the children, innocent... "You forgave Amerikagasshūkoku, a tremendous moral strength it required. They ought to do the same to you." The aged man nodded to Japan, showing a rare smile. " _We_  shall strive to keep this trust from crumbling altogether, but please, Nihon-sama, I ask of you, please fight for this bond the two of you have built... over the ashes of war and death."

Japan shuddered and felt tears prickling in the corner of his eyes, but raised his head to keep them from falling. "I'm... I'm not deserving... but..." He stood up and bowed. "I thank you, Ten'nō-sama. I'll commit these words to heart."

"As you should!" His Emperor remarked with mirth.

"Sulking doesn't quite fit you." Prince Fumito chuckled softly from his seat. His wife nodded to Japan, her smile much more stretched. Japan sat again, suddenly feeling like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, leaving him somewhat exhausted, but relieved.

"Ah, we wouldn't want the people to think you're weak and broody." Crown Prince Natsuhito suddenly pointed out, waving his phone to Japan, then reading on it. "'He looks pretty scared' is what they're saying..."

"Eeeh...?" Japan tilted his head, brows tilting upwards in confusion. "C-can I see?" The table wasn't all that big, so Naruhito simply tossed the phone. His wife frowned, mumbling  _'A bit rude in the table, no?'_ , to which the man replied, shrugging _'It's a family dinner, Mariko!'._

Japan caught the object easily, paying them little mind, and continued reading. It was a forum post, maybe belonging to one of  _those_  kids? They got two pictures, one of when he was busy talking to Hiroshi-san, trying to pry the man's hands off his with a somewhat obvious distaste for skin-contact. The other was from when he was nearly cowering behind Hiroshi-san... He did look really scared...

_'He looks pretty scared of you...'_

_'I'm guessing it's because you did pop his bubble out of nowhere like this._ _Or maybe he just doesn't really like humans..._ _'_

_'A real Tochigami, making deals around car companies. Will I be blessed if I buy from them?'_

_'Help! Does he have a shrine? I don't know where to pray!'_

Japan nearly laughed, but held back with trained expertise. "Tochigami, ka... I don't remember the last time I've been referred as such..." It was much too common in the past, but his society grew out of certain superstitions and customs. Nothing but folklore nowadays...

Ai leaned forward on her seat, inquiring with a soft voice. "Well, aren't you?" Little Hirohito nodded along, but Japan wasn't sure if he knew what exactly they were talking about.

He raised an eyebrow at them. "I'm not entirely sure."

"I always thought you were Isonokami." Hirohito's older sister, Princess Maiko who was already a young woman, remarked after being quiet for the entire dinner. Her expression showed some mild curiosity, which she seemed to be trying to repress.

Their eldest sister, Mayu, piped in. "Weren't you born with the Yamato Kingdom? It was where the Isonokami Shrine is, no?"

Japan gaped for a second, thinking. "I... don't remember." He cupped his chin in thought. That shrine, it was... his old home? He faintly remembers visitors who wished to pray to the local entity... Honestly, it has been a long time since he last gave his childhood  _any_  thought. It was starting to get fuzzy. It's not like he had any reason to remember those... darker times... Not many good memories there.

"Getting old, now?" Prince Fumito joked, wiggling his cup of sake. Much to Japan's embarrassment, making him blush and shrink on his seat again. Even the Emperor chuckled, as did everyone else. All in all, conversation resumed slowly, and they succeeded in lifting his mood and confidence. Japan finally felt at ease again as he smiled sheepishly.

He's protected this family with incredible devotion ever since he's known himself to be a Nation, and moments like these always have him feeling glad he did. Even when he supported other governments, like the Shogunate, or the Edo, and even when they weren't  _worth_  protecting, the Imperial Family's safety was  _always_  a priority...

With his mood lifted, Japan was ready to face this  _change_. He would be leaving just after dinner, to go to the meeting, and soon, Japan would face the ghosts of his past with honor and courage, and with his head held high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More context and information in the original News Feed entry on FF.net.


	10. No Loyalty

**Washington D.C – White House (UTC -4) 6:55 a.m**

" _-_ _Speaking of overbearing patriotism, America, the embodiment. Apparently, he watches my show, and here I was wondering if I would get any of my predictions right, maybe he's my spirit brother... but then I got this letter! Because it seems they don't like him using emails... And this is all true, I really did get an_ actual _letter, swear to America, I'm not faking it!_

_'Thank you so much for making fun of me, I've always wanted a comedian to do that directly to me instead of the whole country, it was the best thing ever. Can't write too much 'cuz Senate is too paranoid, but love your show, smiley face.' Aw, he sounds so nice and adorable, obviously a far cry from what I was expecting..._ _But at least he has a sense of humo_ _r, also 'P.S, not fat._ _Just laying it out there._ _'_ _t_ _his time, with a frowny face! It might be pure denial, but maybe he's just as sensitive about this as all of us,_ _I'm still not sure if_ _my diet is even working, have you seen_ _-?"_

America chuckled from his seat on the couch, shoulders shaking with mirth. He couldn't quite explain how strange and yet exhilarating it was to know his people were thinking and talking about  _him_ , as a person, and not as his whole territory and government. It was a foreign situation, but he's not the type to shy away from new experiences.

It really was a cool idea to send a 'thank you' letter, though, but his Senate definitely wouldn't like it. They always said they knew what was best for him, and it was in their job description to  _not_  listen to his whims – Congress was a whole 'nother story. Still, there were no actual laws stopping him – he checked them for loopholes even when he knew them like the back of his hand – so there's  _literally_  nothing they could do.

He had his phone hanging from his hand as he expected a call-and speak of the devil, it was ringing... He paused the recorded show, much to his dismay, as he wanted to keep watching – he had no time to watch anything last night – answering the call quickly. "Yeah?" He looked around, despite knowing he was completely alone in the Oval Office. His boss would kill him if he knew about this...

" _Mr. Jones, you can_ _talk to him now."_

"Ah, thanks, be there in a sec." He ended the call and stood up, adjusting his suit – stuffy, not something he liked to wear often – the space around him shifted and turned somewhat bright and yet bleak, with the faint smell of iron, copper, and maybe other elements mixed in, so faint that only he could catch them.

No windows in sight, no sounds from the outside. There was a constant hum of the fluorescent lights on the ceiling, and the silence itself seemed to make some kind of sound to his ears.

 _Underground_.

He took a few steps forward and pushed a metallic door open, meeting the Director of his Secret Intelligence, a man America commonly referred to as 'Johnny'. The man gave him a cursory glance with a nod, then looked back at the glass window again. A one-way mirror. Beside it, there was another door, that led to the adjacent room, where someone was chained to a chair.

He could see the wounds, reddish marks on the floor and on the person's clothes, knees, legs, and collar around the neck.

"Oookay, who's this one?" America asked, giving the prisoner a look, frowning. He still had that hostile presence that made his skin crawl... America grimaced lightly, nearly let out a disgusted hiss.

" _M_ _r. Terrance Harrison,_  was a CIA agent. Remember him?" Johnny raised an eyebrow.

"I think so..." America narrowed his eyes, adjusting his glasses. The man was on a chair, his hands cuffed behind him, and feet cuffed to the ground. He had his head down, so America couldn't see his face right, but the name was  _familiar_.

If he already worked for the CIA before, that means America himself  _must_  have let him in, he  _always_  checks them before hiring, leaving a 0% chance of a terrorist infiltrating his Secret Intelligence. "He was okay when I let him in, that's for sure. Something happened, but what...?"

"He, along with the others, were surprisingly resilient to our questioning." Johnny leaned back, sitting on a table directly behind them. "One, named Mark Parr, couldn't quite take it, and preferred to bite his own goddamn tongue off."

"He  _died_...?!" America questioned, not exactly out of outrage, it was more like plain  _disbelief_. "That's... fanatic." He had no better word to explain why any human would choose death, even if with their cooperation, their chances of freedom were still very minimal. He would never truly understand this kind of behavior...

Johnny shrugged helplessly with a 'meh' noise. "I know that another one, what's-his-name... Frederick something... He actively attempted to drown himself when we tried waterboarding... It's been nearly a whole damn week." The man exhaled heavily in frustration.

America raised a disbelieving eyebrow, scoffing, then looked back at 'Terry', as he would call him now. "Did you guys let him sleep?"

"Not at all. Maybe he's trying to catch a break  _now.._." Johnny's eyes squinted as he tried to see if this was the case.

America frowned, lips thinning. "Let's wake him up, then." He went to the next room, quietly opening the door.

Terry must have fallen asleep, America could focus a little and hear how his heartbeat was much slower, despite the slight strain of his breathing, as if his lungs were having a hard time doing their job. The distinct smell of  _iron_  was much stronger now. He closed the door slowly, then crossed his arms and sighed silently. The man didn't stir, so it must be a pretty heavy sleep. His body was most likely desperate for some rest after a whole week of sleep deprivation and questioning.

They couldn't get anything else, and he would most likely be locked away somewhere. America wasn't even supposed to be here... However, he wanted to speak with one first, if only to understand, find some closure...

America crouched with a knee on the ground to see his face. He could see the tell-tale signs of physical abuse, purplish marks and angry red, with the left-over vestiges of blood that weren't completely cleaned off for  _this_  meeting alone. Beneath all of that, there were lines of stress, dark shadows beneath his closed eyes and face pale from the lack of food, sleep, and sunlight. So peaceful at the moment. America shook his head briefly.

Too peaceful for a  _traitor_.

He pulled his glove and took a calming breath before backhanding the man.  _"Wake up!"_  He held back, he didn't want to break  _poor_   _Terry's_  neck after all.

The man spazzed with a gasp as he tried to gather his bearings, wincing when moving his most likely broken or fractured bones, his breathing labored as he looked at everything around him with wide bloodshot eyes. America stood up, and Terry's eyes locked on him suddenly.

He felt hostility flaring up as Terry scowled at him. "...Finally showing your face..." He mumbled. America asked them to not rip any teeth out. It would be difficult to talk...

America tilted his head, feeling confused now that he could perceive Terry's emotions. He grabbed the man's chin, turning him to have a good look. Terry tried prying himself off, but America tightened his grip, making the man wince in pain and stop before anything broke. "Yeah, I did let you in..." He was definitely his citizen, America remembers him now. Each citizen had this  _uniqueness_  that America liked to remember. Not something he could quite explain or understand.

This one  _was_  a good boy, loyal, with a good head on his shoulders, wanted the best for the country and probably learned that from his veteran father. America was supposed to ask him questions, maybe try to get something more, but now he found himself wondering why... just why, why,  _why_  did such a good kid turn against him like this...? "What the hell happened, Terry...?" He questioned, more to himself than to the man.

The man sneered in distaste, probably at the nickname. "...I was shown the  _truth_ , you goddamn monster..." Terry hissed. "The whole world will soon follow, your days are numbered...!" Terry gave him a shaky grin, somewhat unstable, and America felt that needle stabbing in the back of his head, the  _hate_. A citizen that hates you, it just  _hurts_...

America frowned, sensing pure unhinged  _conviction_. He usually got this level of conviction and faith from his more... religious people... He let go of the man, who was quick to draw back as much as he could on his seat.

"It's good to know you have friends."

Terry flinched, but decided to remain silent.

"You mind redeeming yourself and telling me about them?" He was met by silence. It was a constant stream of 'no's in his head and America had a feeling that he wouldn't be getting anything out of him. He was like the other two, prefers death, and that  _disgusting_ mentality reminded him of terrorists from the Middle East. "No?"

America exhaled, stretching his hand and stopping himself from hurting Terry again. He had no patience for this, he was just a fanatic and fanatics made no sense to him, they wouldn't give him any answers. Tortured for a week, and still nothing...!

America leaned forward, hands resting on his knees as he watched Terry, his brows tilted upwards as he shook his head. "Such a shame... You were  _such_  a nice kid, Terry... Your father would be so...  _disappointed_..." He hissed the last word, to emphasize.

"...You don't know  _anything_  about us...!" He gritted out, hatred building up. America could sense his aversion to the topic. Shame, the only weak link to his fanaticism was his father, ashamed of what he would think, but certainly deluding himself into thinking the man would be on his side. A great guy, fought in the Vietnam War, America met and fought with him, even shared drinks with him.

He certainly wouldn't side with Terry, and Terry  _knew_  that, deep down, he knew it.

"...I  _really_  just want what's best for my people, I don't understand why you're so mad at me..."

He hit a nerve. America could feel the man's blood burning, he was already gritting his teeth as he raised his head, scowling, but still avoiding looking at him directly in the eye. "Fuck you...! We're not  _yours_ to do as you please...!"

America's expression softened, brows tilting upwards. Oh, no... Is that what he thinks? That he's  _controlling_ them? He sighed, the thought of someone out there turning his people against him, it was something out of a  _nightmare_. It was worse than anything Hollywood or anyone could ever come up with for him. "Someone  _told_  you things, huh?" Terry wasn't looking at him again, so America held his face with both hands easily despite his struggle. "Messed with your head, made you think you were...  _fighting_  for something important, for your freedom from some 'force' controlling humanity... Don't be stupid.  _My_  people  _are_  free, Terry."

Terry's eyes were wide, he couldn't look anywhere else. America could feel his hesitation and doubt, his conviction challenging America's own words like a bull hitting a wall. "...Y-you're controlling me, now..." The wall cracked, but didn't fall.

Such a pity.

"I never controlled  _any_  of you, Terry." America smiled pityingly, shaking his head slowly as he backed away, hand reaching inside his suit, pulling out a heavy pistol and aiming. His glare hardened and Terry froze. "You already  _had_  your freedom."

The gunshot sound rebounded off the walls, amplifying it, but America didn't flinch. With a scoff, he walked out, sparing the bloody mess no second thoughts.

He stepped outside, door closing quietly, but leaving the door handle slightly bent under his grip. Johnny remained sitting on the table, offering him a cigarette. "...Did you have to  _shoot_  him?" He inquired quietly, but without malice. "Maybe you could have tried something  _else_  first?" America knew the man would prefer if he helped them more often with these things, like he used to.

"Oh, fuck off..." America spat, also with no real malice, pacing for a few seconds, then taking one cigarette after some hesitation, also being tossed a lighter, thankfully. "I don't do  _hurting_ my own citizen, not like  _that_ , even if he's a filthy  _traitor..._ There's a fucking  _preacher_  out there, turning my own people against me, and their goal is more pointless than I thought. Such a  _waste_..." He went through the door that led to the hallway, Hopping somewhere where he could sit and think. More specifically, the top of the Headquarters – which admittedly wasn't all that high up.

It was good to feel the wind, though. The underground tended to be suffocating and usually got to his nerves. The place was mostly surrounded by nature as well, no  _civilian_  propriety too close, so he could just sit there and smoke in peace. It was relaxing, he often smoked when feeling too stressed out...

He laid down, facing the sky with his legs crossed as he lit the cigarette.

He cares about his citizens, absolutely  _adores_  the lot of them, even the crazy ones. But he  _hates_  traitors. ' _Ungrateful bastards...'_ They didn't deserve the freedom America worked so hard to grant them... He bled and died for it, many times over.

It wasn't for nothing. They have freedom. America wasn't controlling them.

They believe  _his_  words  _naturally_. Even if he blatantly lies to their face, they'll still feel inclined to believe. He's not intentionally controlling any human. It might come off as such, but that's nature.

It's how they interact. They're different races, of different origins, but their relations is one of  _mutualism_ , or better, a more extreme one-sided version, considering his very existence  _depends_  on them, but not the other way around.

It's a partnership where they keep him alive, and he protects them unconditionally.

Terry, and whoever else, simply failed to understand that.

But the man did  _talk_  a little because of that moronic idea. America's presence must have been a strong trigger for him to suddenly start spouting useful things, despite the fact that he's never encountered such a devoted fanatism, with a powerful sense of duty that overarched  _humanity_  as a whole, just to make things more annoying.

For these ungrateful pricks, this was about his kind specifically. For them, they were the wardens of humanity, like puppeteers controlling the strings and sadistic masters behind all misfortune and grief. He didn't know the actual culprits' motives – the 'preachers' as he was calling them now – they might have the same stupid objective, who knew.

So there were people out there who wanted Nations gone, maybe a whole terrorist group at this point – as if they didn't have enough of  _those_  nowadays – and maybe America should have tried to get  _more_  information, but Terry really  _pissed him off_.

He runs out of patience way too quickly when angry...

America blinked as a sudden thought hit him. He felt bad for Terry's father now. He was a good man and a good soldier, if he remembers correctly. But he would be getting the news of his son's unfortunate ' _accident'_ soon, and America felt remorseful about causing him pain. The man already lost his wife, he didn't need this crap...

So it's all Terry's fault.  _'Goddamn idiot couldn't even think of his family before he'd gone and fucked up.'_ It made America want to pay the man a visit, but his still youthful appearance might give him a hear-attack...

That matter aside, surely  _England_  would know more about these types of enemies. He's always said humans don't really like different things, or big sudden changes. It's a... survival thing, helped them survive long before any Nations were around to help them against nature. Also, England has dealt with humans trying to kill him before, he probably had something or other that could help him out. The idea made him frown in distaste.

America took the burning cigarette from his mouth, yawning, then coughing. He hasn't smoked in a while, now that he thought about it...  _Last time was... 2001,_  and a lot more until _2009..._

There was a meeting coming very soon, and there were still the other traitors to question... Hopefully, by the time he got to the meeting, he would have enough information to form a decent action plan, and then, he would have to get his allies' cooperation. Dammit... how he hated asking for their help, especially England's help, it stung his pride in a way he wasn't comfortable with.

Not to mention, most of the EU tended to reject his way of doing things. Not fine and fancy, or thoughtful enough. Too crude or harsh. Honestly, he would be much happier if they sucked it up and did something that got them results.

America sat up, smothering the remaining burnt cigarette with his hand until it became ashes, barely feeling it through the glove. He would have to get them out of his way...

Sometimes, he felt like he was the only one who knew how to get anything done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More context and information in the original News Feed entry on FF.net.


	11. To a Curious Public

**Bern (UTC +2) 1:10 p.m**

Normally, Switzerland would rather  _not_  have any 'visitors' in his territory, but it seems being completely neutral has its set of problems. 'There's a huge international problem! Let's go to Switzerland!' and he absolutely loathed whenever  _something_  happened.

Because he knew  _this_  would follow suit. He would be playing  _host_ to other Nations.

"Here's the list." The secretary handed him a sheet of paper from behind the counter. She would be the front secretary for the duration of this meeting. They would be seeing her once they entered the building, she would send them off to the right floor, and then close the front entrance once everyone was present and accounted for.

There would be someone near the roof as well. Knowing America, he would definitely not understand how to be  _subtle_.

"Hm." Switzerland nodded, reading through it quickly. "Why is Mr. Benz here?"

"He makes good coffee, and he buys snacks."

He nodded. "Hm, he can stay then."

They usually organize to keep the number of employees at a minimum whenever there's a big meeting like this, so it falls to him to make sure everything's in order. Because apparently,  _no one_   _else_  was mentally adept enough to do anything in this world other than  _Switzerland_...

The floors were swept and hallways were cleared, the rooms cleaned, the furniture cheap and easy to replace, the walls sound-proof, and the windows were one-sided mirrors and bullet-proof. All in one meeting floor.

The fire-alarm and sprinklers were also in working order. He did  _not_  want a repeat of 1983. That was a close-call...

"Big bruder?" Switzerland looked to the left, where his little sister was sitting on the smartly placed couch of the lobby. At his inquiring look, she gestured to the door, a small little smile on her face.

Switzerland rolled his eyes, not at her, but more at himself for even agreeing with this instead of disappearing into that little house at the edge of the alps, 13000 feet from the ground, where  _no one could bother him._ "Alright then."

He gave his okay to the secretary, adjusting his formal military suit, and then followed his little sister out, she was nearly skipping on her steps, humming. He sighed, his expression becoming less tight, even if just a little. Outside, they passed by the front fountains, and continued  _walking_ , instead of letting their driver take them home immediately.

Lichtenstein wanted to take a  _walk_.

His eyes hardened again when spotting a small group, two photographers and a reporter, possibly, having coffee on the other side. Switzerland scoffed. Ever since this whole idiotic mess started a week ago, these people have been  _scouting_  around, looking for any possible 'candidates' that could be 'Switzerland'.

He sees one of them turning to look at him and his sister, then tapping his colleague, making the other two look, and Switzerland glared, pushing forward and pulling Liechtenstein closer where no pictures of her could be taken from their angle. Even when he's gone past them and not looking anymore, he knows he's still being watched.

"We can't avoid them forever, you know?" Lichtenstein chirped.

"I don't see why not." He countered.

Naturally, humans don't pay close attention to Nations unless Nations themselves call for that attention, mostly with a sound. Like a perception filter. A first line of defense. However, much to their chagrin, this filter is rendered  _useless_  when the humans know  _what_  they're looking for.

Then, Nations are just incredibly  _easy_   _to spot..._  Maybe the texture or appearance of their hair doesn't look  _quite_  natural, maybe the color of their eyes is just  _too_  bright and distinct, maybe something in their nature just attracts their attention when they realize that they exist.

Whatever it is, Switzerland hates it.

In most cases, any worry over such attention is unfounded and baseless, mere paranoia, but now they had a genuine reason to be preoccupied. Yes, definitely a good reason to worry... The cameras continue watching him, and then start  _following_  from a distance. Switzerland grits his teeth. They didn't dare get any closer, and it might have something to do with the  _assault rifle_  on his back.

It didn't look too out of place with his uniform, but it's still not common to carry one around in public.

However, his sister, little and  _innocent_  Lichtenstein, didn't seem to mind, and led him closer to places where many people were walking, waving at whoever stopped to stare.

Switzerland didn't care. In fact, he was rolling his eyes.  _How fun._

But he  _did_  care when he was being  _followed._ He cursed how he and his sister stuck out like a sore thumb in their opened eyes. "...I think we need to disappear." Or at least, his sister needed to stay away from the media's hands, with their near-malicious self-interests and downright nefarious curiosity. He craned his neck a little and glared at the insistent pursuers, pulling his sister closer so no pictures of her could be taken. They tried to look busy on their phones or talking to one another, as if Switzerland couldn't tell, but as a reward for his continuous glare, he got his picture taken.

He huffed in frustration, frowning.  _Fantastic..._ Maybe this  _is_ a problem he needs to solve as soon as possible...

Lichtenstein turned and smiled, waving at them, and the moment one raised a camera with that surprised look, Switzerland moved in front of her, stopping and shifting his body so he could cover her, and also for him to direct his full attention to them, challenging them to try and take a picture of his sister.

He could sense other eyes on him, more people actually  _looking for them_ , mostly young people, those who spent extra time on the internet, and it was starting to get annoying... Not only that, but this huge attention felt... constricting. Uncomfortable. A new experience he did not welcome into his life.

"Can't we stop and talk to them?" Lichtenstein inquired quietly.

He paused, his eyes quickly darting to the side where a restaurant was open, then back at the pesky humans, his head turning slightly to address his sister. "No. We're going home." He heard her sighing in disappointment as he gently pushed her inside.

They went past the distracted costumers and into the kitchen, all the employees too busy with their job to look past the filter, which was working just fine now. The cooks ignored them entirely and soon they were out through the back door, he approvingly noted on the back of his mind the organized and clean way this establishment kept its waste tucked away.

It's a shame he can't just Hop back and take Lichtenstein along... It would make his life so much easier. Switzerland continues walking into the alleyway, a shortcut  **–** he knew the city, and the whole country, like the back of his hand  **–** while pulling his phone out and typing a message to his driver to pick them up. "You shouldn't be out in the open like this..." He mumbled while sending the message, and pocketing his phone once he confirmed that it was received.

"I wanted to talk to them." Lichtenstein quipped, holding his hand as she followed him.

" _I_ don't want you to talk to them. They should just mind their own business." They wouldn't, which is why he had a very stupid idea, an idea that could at least help him in the long run.

"They're just curious. Why is this so bad?"

Switzerland held back a growl. Again, not at her, it was mostly at himself. "If we indulge them too much, they'll invade our privacy and soon use us as scapegoats to the world's problems. I'll only address their worries to make sure they understand that we're individuals and not a threat. We shouldn't let them think they can treat us like _media attractions_." Like they treat American celebrities.  _Attractions_ to be ogled at, or someone to  _blame_ for their troubles, in the politicians' case.

Lichtenstein didn't respond, only shook her head, apparently giving up for now. Good. She wasn't ready to deal with any of this.

As soon as they reached the road, they could see the black car, with their driver waiting outside. He was a competent man who's been working for him for the last few decades, and knew when Switzerland didn't want to be bothered. So he was greeted with a quiet 'sir' and the back door was opened for them.

Switzerland quickly ushered his sister inside, hovering over the door to look at her. "You're going straight home."

Lichtenstein tilted her head. "But... what will  _you_  do?"

He glanced back, catching a mild commotion under his radar, it was inside the restaurant, and he shook his head. "I'll be right after you. I have an  _ _issue__  to deal with it."

He could see she wanted to come along, but came to a decision after a second, nodding with an always-sweet smile. "Be nice to them."

Switzerland nodded back with a small, satisfied smile that was barely visible. He closed the door and turned to his driver. "Straight to my house. If I'm not there yet, cook something for her. This might take more than a few minutes."

"Ja, Herr Schweiz." The man saluted formally, to which Switzerland nodded, and they parted ways. He moved back into the alley, and back through the door he came from. Inside, he could smell food being prepared, cooks still doing their job, and just outside the kitchen, he could hear his nosy tail explaining something.

" _We swear they came here, how come you didn't see them?"_ It was a woman's voice...

" _I told you, there was no one. Maybe you just saw costumers walking in, aren't they here?"_

" _If you_ had  _seen them, you would understand, it was like… ah..._ _It's difficult to explain,"_

Switzerland shook his head, lips pressing together. What inconvenience. He couldn't believe he was doing this, but they had to have  _something_ , otherwise this wouldn't stop. He walked out and went to the counter, ignoring the racket. The attendee didn't bat an eye when he stopped in front of her. "Fräulein." He called her, her head snapped towards him, as if surprised. Hadn't checked the news in a while, has she?

Not the same to everyone else, he could perceive a few wide eyes trained on him, or the weapon on his back. He wondered which one of them knew  _who_  they were looking at.

Her eyes stayed on him for a few seconds before she answered. "Ja?"

"A coffee, with cream."

"Right..."

If he's going to do this, he might as well have a drink. His ear twitched when sensing someone else noticing his presence. Then approaching cautiously. Definitely a  _her,_ with lighter footsteps, high-pitch typical of high-heels, her heartbeat was elevated, as if expecting an attack or aggression. It made Switzerland sigh. His own people would need to do something  _outrageous_  to get him to  _think_ about attacking them. He could then hear her breath, suddenly inhaling to speak.

"Shh." He rose his hand before a word could be said. "If you're going to bother me, at least let me get my coffee first."

 _Startled._ She took a step back. Good.

The young lady came back with his steaming coffee, he handed her the money and walked towards a fairly secluded table, walking past the reporter and her friends. After he sat down, he took a sip, the heat not really bothering him, and started tapping his foot impatiently. They hadn't moved, just  _stared_.

His face pinched as he snapped at them. "What are you waiting for? Come on, I don't have all day." He only rose his voice a little, just enough to get the message across, and pointed at the chair in front of him.

There was visible hesitation, the reporter looked from one colleague to another, before taking a long breath as they all nodded, and walking towards him. Her two friends followed, eying him warily, cameras ready, but they were leaning forward a little, as if eager.

He could feel this wariness, with  _curiosity_  as well. Skepticism, amazement, some wonder... With more eyes turned towards him, it turned into a mess of emotions he ignored.

Switzerland continued drinking his coffee. She sat down slowly, watching him with wide eyes, taking in the details. He knew he wasn't impressively tall, 5 foot 6 is nothing to brag about, but his distinctive features, typical of any Nation, were definitely what caught their eye.

He felt his brows furrowing as the irritating silence was prolonged. The cup of coffee was placed back on the table loudly. "Well?" He snapped, making them back away a little.

"Uhm…" Maybe they thought he had no patience, the audience relishing this  _spectacle_  around the restaurant... But that would be a misconception. He's more patient with his own people than he would ever be with anyone else, other that his sister, maybe. "I-I'm sorry, I write for the  _20 Minuten,"_ A newspaper, figures. "My name's Agnes Ackermann, uh..." She rose her hand, but hesitated, as if she didn't know whether she could shake his hand or not.

"Hm." Switzerland wasn't about to give his human cover-name that easily, it would just be much easier to track him down. Well, first things first. "I don't like being followed, Fräulein Akcermann." He admonished, knowing they would unconsciously feel ashamed. "And I don't like being watched, either." He took a second to look around, knowing that others were doing just that.

They looked away, like scolded children, but he knew someone or other still had a camera in hands. Damn  _smart phones…_

Back at Miss Ackermann, her cheeks were red, her buddies looking away, picking on their own cameras. They only needed to whistle to make this scene more comic. Miss Ackermann was eager to talk, her shoulders tensing when she couldn't stay quiet any longer. "Sorry, sorry, but once the news hit us last week, we've been told to look for, uh, you?"

"I guess."

" _Guess_ …?"

Switzerland sighed, wiggling his cup to stir the coffee. "I'm not here for the public's entertainment, Fräulein Ackermann, I won't be treated as such and I would be thankful if you kept me and my sister out of this media fest."

"That was your sister?" A curious smile.

Switzerland frowned at the prodding. "She doesn't need people poking around her life." He pointed at them for extra emphasis. "Any business you have to conduct, or any questions you have to ask, will be directed at me, but that's it. No pandering  _or_  meandering." Their eyes widened as he continued. "I will  _not_  answer questions that don't need to be answered, I will  _not_  have my privacy invaded, I will  _not_  be blamed for things that  _I_  didn't personally do or approve of,  _and_  I'm going to make it clear  _right now,_  that I will  _not_  be confused with my government. I have my job, and they have theirs." With his terms set, he leaned back on his seat, taking a sip of his coffee while keeping a steely eye-contact.

He was daring them to disagree.

Miss Ackermann was left gaping, and the silence was relatively suffocating, but it was broken at the sudden flash of a camera, from the awkward young man beside her, followed by his friend.

Switzerland rolled his eyes. "I want to  _leave_." He stressed with a frown.

"R-Right! Sorry!" Miss Ackermann fuddled inside her purse in a hurry and pulled out her own phone, intending to write with it. "Can we really ask you a couple of questions?" She inquired while fiddling nervously with the device.

"If you'll leave me alone afterward…" Switzerland relented with a deadpan. All of this is for his sister... Which is nothing new. He's been shielding her for many years now.

"Right, of course! Now, who...  _are_  you, exactly?" She leaned forward, as if it would help her detect any deception on his part. He had the feeling she was seeing this as some sort of  _challenge_  to her career, as if talking to him were an incredible feat only for the brave.

If he were a Nation like Prussia or Poland, he would find a way to have  _fun_  with this. However, he's much too mature for such plays.

He tilted his head, giving out the simplest answer. "The Nation of Schweiz." To their ears, he knew how nonsensical it could sound. He could see the confusion despite the fact that they've already read about this, no doubt. By clearing things up, he hoped that this would be the last  _interview_ he would ever have to give… He doesn't like giving gratification to other people, especially when it isn't strictly  _necessary_. He's sure other Nations would do the same at some point, but… these are  _his_ people...

He hated to admit he has a weakness with them, but he guessed all Nations had the same Achilles' heel. They want answers, and he knows it's uncomfortable to be left in the dark. Getting rid of the problem right off the bat was the most efficient action as well.

He kept his eyes on his coffee, not needing to look at anyone to know there's confusion over his statement.

Miss Ackermann tilted her head. "I-I don't understand, how is that possible? You can't be a  _country._ "

He sighed, taking a sip of coffee. It was starting to get cold. "I'm not exactly the country  _itself_. That's not what a  _Nation_ is, despite what you learned. I'm still an individual, and I live as long as I have this land, with the schweizerisch and their culture… Call it a connection."

" _Mein Gott..."_  She whispered, her mouth forming an 'o'. He could see Miss Ackermann inhaling in wonder, as if the implications were running through her mind, and she quickly looked down to type it out. "...Do you know where you came from? How is it  _possible_?"

"No one knows and I don't really care. You should try asking an old American scientist, maybe  _they'll_  have a theory."

"The Americans… Right..." She wrote things down rapidly, a grin forming on her face. He could see her companions finding themselves some chairs to sit, curiously listening. "Ah, I have to ask, since when have you… uh,  _been_  here?"

Switzerland squinted lightly in contemplation. "The exact date is not important, although I'm sure it was after Rome died."

"Rome…?"

"The Roman Empire." He shrugged. Maybe it was the fact that they were relaxing in his presence  **–**  which felt somewhat comforting  **–**  but he felt less irritated and ready to bolt out of there. He still wanted to leave, but it wasn't quite as  _urgent_. This was good, people were calming down but he never liked how easily large groups of people could influence his mood...

He almost felt manipulated.

His thoughts were cut as she continued, leaning forward and oozing that intense excitement he really didn't want near him. "I- _We_  thought you couldn't...  _die_...?" She looked up at him expectantly.

"I would call it  _conditional_  immortality." Yes, his coffee was definitely cold. That's what happens when there's a conversation interrupting him. He looked up and saw her still with the expectant look, waiting for more information. "I don't see the need to explain this." He gritted his teeth, easily making them back off.

"Okay, okay… Sorry… Uh, how do you feel about the American government letting this information out like this?"

Switzerland scoffed. "I've seen the mess America calls  _home._  I'm not particularly surprised."

"America? As in, someone like you, but... from the  _United States...?"_

"Yes,  _that_  guy." Everything involving the brat is always incredibly flashy or incredibly annoying to Switzerland. He could see their surprise, despite the fact that this  _shouldn't_  be a surprise at all. Other countries had their Nations as well. Maybe the implications were sinking in.

"Uh… Do you think this will be problematic or beneficial to the world's current state?"

"I don't care as long as my country is fine." Of course he cared about  _his_  people and their country, and he wanted them to  _understand_  that, at the very least.

"Oh…" Did she still expect him to answer like a politician? "What about others, uh, the others like you?"

"I don't care." Switzerland repeated with a droll, eyes wandering upwards. "They can kill each other if they want, as long as it doesn't involve my territory." He took a second to pull his sleeve, checking the hour.

It's definitely time to go home. He's said what he needed to say.

This obvious sign of impatience made Miss Ackermann scramble for more questions quickly. "Um, what do you do within the government?" She asked hurriedly right as he was standing up.

"You can take that up to Herr Schneider." His president should be answering any political questions now. Switzerland didn't feel the need to answer to things that could be easily explained by his government, or  _anyone else_  other than Switzerland himself. This little  _'interview'_ only served to keep his media at bay for now, and he knew this would satisfy his people for a little while, long enough for a more formal and official response from his president and Federal Council to be prepared.

Before he could take one step away, Miss Ackermann held to his elbow, making him sigh tiredly. At least she wasn't nervous or scared of him anymore. "Please, uh, have you been personally involved with causing any war or conflict?" Oh,  _that_.

"I'm the reason why we stayed  _out_ of all that mess..." He gritted out more forcefully.

"What about the others?" She sounded very determined to get answers out him now. Where was this boldness before?

He pulled his arm free. "Ask them."

"W-wait, wait, wait! Will you talk to other media sources any time soon?"

"I don't need to. I already disclosed what I  _should_ disclose for now. You can find other flashier Nations to interrogate." He nodded at Miss Ackermann and at her photographers while adjusting his suit, then walked out of the restaurant.

Unsurprisingly, a group of people had settled near the door and windows, people who were walking by and stopping when seeing the commotion. The authoritative air around Switzerland was enough to make them back off, as if unconsciously wishing to move out of his way.

He would continue walking until he found a spot out of sight to Hop back home, where his sister was waiting for him.

Back at the restaurant, Miss Ackermann was on her phone with her editor, gesturing wildly, her photographers were berating each other for not taking more pictures – too focused on the short interview with this strange being  **–**  and the customers and even the employees were uploading videos, tweeting, and updating their status excitedly, as a small group of teenagers exchanging ideas somewhat loudly,  _'I wonder if he knows where the Kindlifresserbrunnen came from...'_  was a question they pondered in amusement.

The first European Nation to  _talk_  turned out to be the one who was the least willing to do so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More context and information in the original News Feed entry on FF.net.


	12. Citizens & Nations

**Naples (UTC +2) 1:35 p.m**

Normally, Romano would say he has a very objective approach when it comes to understanding exactly what he hates in this world, and why he hates it. He had a big list, even.

However, there was something way high up in this list of things he hates. That is  _being stared at._

He can say for sure, he  _hates_ being stared at. Before he arrived on this dock, he had no recollection that he hated it  _so_  much. But now he does. Romano let out a sigh that sounded more like a growl. "You better  _thank_ me for this, fratello." He hissed under his breath, slumping on the bench.

The sound of seagulls were barely tolerable, and the sun was annoyingly hot that day. Romano could see a ship approaching the docks, although, it was neither too far nor too close, enough to make him tap his foot impatiently, willing it to go faster with a glare.

Maybe he should call his brother, tell him to  _hurry up_  already. It was tempting, especially with all the goddamn  _stares._ Romano leaned forward with an elbow on his knee for support, rubbing his face. He was trying so,  _so_ hard not to leave, but oh, how he wants to explode and walk away right then and there.

He eyed the approaching ship again, this time it  _looked_  closer, maybe, but still not close enough. He knew how obvious his nervous ticks were at this point, anyone could see he moved and changed position every five seconds or so, but he couldn't help it.

He didn't remember that this was so uncomfortably  _annoying!_ Don't these people have anything else to do other than stare?! Sure, they were moving about, too, not  _just_ staring, but it still wasn't an excuse! He could feel the eyes boring into him from all possible angles and it was like an incessant itch he couldn't scratch. The sensation of humans staring and directing their attention at him has always been incredibly nagging.

His lucky brother didn't seem to have this extreme reaction... To his baby brother, it was like a raised flag, just a heads up, easily pushed aside.

To Romano, it was an alarm bell with a needle poke that  _never stopped poking,_  for some godforsaken reason. So if this became a common thing, then America be damned for his shoddy security!

Still, he decided to force himself to remain still and use all of his willpower to ignore it, acting out would only draw more attention, so he waited long enough to hear the waves created by the approaching ship.

Out of curiosity, he craned his neck to look behind him as discreetly as possible, confirming that yes, there was a camera as well. Romano cursed once again. It's not possible that he was  _that_ interesting, he was literally doing  _nothing._

Well, he guessed that he at least  _looked_  different enough to warrant this interest. The hair curl definitely stood out. Human hair just doesn't  _do_  that.

" _It's not doing anything..."_ Romano's ear twitched when he heard it. Someone behind, sounded young enough to say something so stupid…

" _Why is it here…?"_

It?  _It?_ He was an  ** _it_**  now? Romano straightened, baring his teeth. He stood up and turned with a scorn on his face. "What was that, I'm an  _IT_ , you shitty brats?!" There were two, and their postures stiffened, giving him an incredulous stare behind a camera. "Yes, I heard you!" Romano stomped around the bench towards them.

They backed away with jerky steps, one pulled the other by the arm.  _"Oh, shit, run!"_  Both bolted away, while Romano huffed in frustration.

Others also took steps back, giving him cautious glances, as if trying to assert whether he was a threat or not, while some had already taken this chance to run too. Romano blinked when looking around. Were they actually expecting him to attack? Quite a few were volunteer people, there to help with the incoming flow of refugees by setting tents and such...

His tongue clicked as he went back to his seat, but not before giving everyone else a glare. "What the fuck are you all looking at?! Don't you have anything else you're supposed to be doing?!"

He sat back down again, his head low. It took only half a minute for him to feel the alarms going off in his mind again, this time much more concentrated to his right. Romano glanced at the offenders, seeing a group of men watching him, almost menacingly. Some dockyard workers, but a few civilians as well.

His eyes narrowed, but preferred to look away. Maybe he was too harsh before? His fellow Nations are pretty used to his behavior at this point and rarely treated him badly because of it. After centuries, it was only expected, but these humans…

"Ei, tu!" Romano's train of thought was interrupted and he craned his neck around, seeing those men approach him while still maintaining a 'safe' distance.

He straightened his shoulders, eyes narrowing as he sized them up. Six men, all slightly bigger than him. However, much as he is often easily terrified of stronger Nations – they can  _kill_  him, after all – humans are never a threat, no matter how well armed or how strong.

They can't scare him like the bigger Nations can… So his eyes narrowed. "What?" He replied curtly.

They weren't fazed by his tone. "What is  _something_  like you doing here?"

"Some _thing?"_ Romano hissed, standing from his seat, hands in his pockets. He eyed what could be used as weapons with mild caution.

One had a blowtorch, probably part of a repair crew, another had a high-pressure water hose, normally used for cleaning the outer layer of ships, and could cause him some problems if directed at him. He could also see a wrench… Nothing he wasn't capable of dealing with on his own…

"Yes,  _something_. What do you want?" There was a certain harshness to the man's tone, and Romano didn't like it. Other Nations' citizens never did this kind of shit to them. Why is it  _always_  him...?!

He could see they wanted to circle him and leave no angle uncovered in case they decided to attack, but were hesitant to leave the group. Romano took a deep breath to vent some of his frustration. "I'm waiting for that ship." His head tilted rapidly towards it. "Something wrong with that?"

The ship had slowed down considerably to not hit the concrete dockyard, crawling slowly to a stop, he could already see its name, the  _Comandante Bettica_  painted on the side.

The leading man narrowed his eyes. "...Why are you waiting for it?" He crossed his arms in suspicion.

"Now, that isn't any of your business, is it?" Just in case, Romano adjusted his stance, readying himself for some self-defense. It seemed to make the humans nervous, and they backed away slightly.

His expression slackened and his thoughts froze. Were they…  _scared_  of him? He shook his head slightly. "If I were going to hurt you, I've done so already." He intended to be reassuring, however, that was the wrong thing to say, Romano could see their expressions darkening.

"As if!" One scoffed. "We're six to one."

Romano raised an eyebrow. "I've faced worse." He droned, then blinked when they frowned and gritted their teeth, abandoning that previous hesitation and forming a loose circle around him slowly. Romano shifted his stance, arms and feet more spread out, head snapping from side to side in alarm.  _'Good one, stupid.'_  He berated himself.  _'That's what you get for provoking them... You should know this by now...'_  Veneziano wouldn't have gotten in a mess like this…

He could just Hop away… But there were people watching, there was definitely a camera somewhere too, he didn't want to test his luck, and he didn't want to reveal a Nation's most important ability right off the bat…

Ahead of him, he could see the one with the water hose, gripping it with his knuckles already white and taking slow steps back. Romano eyed him carefully. "You're going to hurt someone with that..." He warned.

That thing, from this distance, could definitely break a rib, especially if it hits another human. The man seemed to know this and was hesitant to open the valve. Behind Romano, he could hear and sense someone's steps, slow, careful, and approaching as he could nearly feel it vibrating on the concrete, a slight clink of metal, cutting through the air, a wrench nearing his head, so he intercepted it  _and_  the hand holding it with both hands, pulling his weight forward easily before another man was sprawled in front of him.

The ground vibrated along with a  _thump_  sound again as someone else moved suddenly, and Romano quickly crouched and swept his leg on the man's way, making him trip. A clear space was opened, so he took several steps back and out of their circle, eying them closely.

They helped their fallen back up, and were giving him hesitant glances again, as if they didn't actually expect him to know how to  _fight_. He saw the one with the blowtorch clicking it on and off anxiously, the man with the hose seemed very intent in not getting involved, and the other four were approaching with fists half-raised.

Romano cursed mentally. Why are his citizens so goddamn stubborn? Why can't he get them to easily trust him like any other  _normal_ Nation?! It was infuriating! The first fist that flew cut his thoughts, but it was much slower than he was used to, it was easy to deflect it to the side and use it to twist his opponent around before pushing him off, leaving him enough time to simply dodge the next attack and back away in another direction. "Va bene, this is getting annoying!"

"Then maybe you should go back to where you came from, demone!"

"I'm fucking  _catholic_ , asshole!"

This provocation was enough to make two of them jump to attack him. "WAIT!" But someone ducked in between them, arms spread out, and stopped everything.

Romano's eyes widened and he stepped back. "V-Veneziano...!" It was indeed his little brother in his dark blue navy uniform, the obvious high ranking signs making the men sputter and back away.

Now Romano could see the ship was already stationed by the docks, the bridge being set up so people could reach the ground. The fact that it wasn't done yet indicated that his brother had simply jumped off the ship to reach him quickly.

He saw buses parking nearby, and many other people crowding that general area. He also saw more navy officials leaving the ship as soon as the bridge was ready and coming towards the two brothers.

Back with Veneziano, he had grabbed Romano's arm, dragging him away, but still looking at the men he was fighting with. "I-I'm so sorry, please, Romano is like this to everyone, he doesn't mean any harm..."

Romano squinted. "Why are you talking like this is my fault?! I did nothing!"

"D-Don't mind him,"

"Ei!"

Those men remained dumbstruck, as if Veneziano was an alien even when he apologized over and over. Romano clicked his tongue and pulled his arm away, walking off on his own. Of course they stopped when  _Veneziano_ told them to.

He walked past the navy officers who gave him curious glances. Veneziano exchanged a few brief words with them before following. "Wait, Romano!"

Romano stopped, his head low as he heaved a sigh.

Veneziano caught up with him. "What were you doing...?!"

" _I_ didn't do anything! They attacked  _me!"_

His brother blinked rapidly. "A-Attacked you…? They're  _your_ people, they shouldn't  _attack_  you for no reason!"

"Well, they did!" Romano gestured flippantly, walking away again. "I only came here to give you a ride back to my place, so come on, I wanna leave."

"W-wait, I..."

"Oh,  _w_ _hat_?" Romano snapped back impatiently.

"I need to stay a little while more, to help the people we brought..."

Romano pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling heavily. "If I had  _known_  that, I would have stayed home for one more hour..." He turned and continued walking away. "I'll be waiting in the car,  _try_ not to take too long, or I'll leave without you."

* * *

Veneziano watched his brother leave, brows tilting upwards. He sighed silently and glanced back at his brother's people, with whom he'd managed to start a conflict with.

This wouldn't be the first time his older brother didn't get along with his own people, and granted, no Nation ever got along with 100% of their people, but the frequency of Romano's altercations was extremely worrying…

So he went towards them, as it seemed like they were arguing with his officers, one who was his vice-captain, a slightly older-looking man named Enzo. Veneziano caught the conversation in the middle.

"-t would have attacked those kids! We saw it!"

"Look, sir..." He could tell his men were struggling with uncertainty. Intervening would be best, he didn't want them to have doubts about him and his brother.

Veneziano placed his hands on his hips once he was close enough to them. "What happened?" He demanded, as calmly as possible and with a hint of worry.

The dockyard employee took one look at him before taking a step back. "How many of you demons are there?!"

His breath hitched and his eyes widened at the accusation, he took a step back, his hand almost going for his chest, where he would normally keep a cross necklace.

This seemed to make them even more inclined to believe their claims held some ground, and they approached menacingly, but were stopped by Enzo and the two younger officers. "How  _dare_ you!" One said.

"Don't go spouting this kind of crap!" Another spat, stepping in front of Veneziano protectively.

Enzo took charge. "This is a great man you're insulting, signor! He's been with us for months, helping us save these poor people's lives!"

"It's not even human, in case you didn't know!"

"We know that!"

"Veneziano has been nothing but kind and caring towards all of us! He's an incredible guy and better than most  _humans_ in this shitty world!"

Veneziano remained quiet, but couldn't help but feel the flush on his cheeks with these compliments. He bit his lower lip so he wouldn't smile. He felt the warmth, the feeling of elation that usually comes from the pride and patriotism from his citizens, it inevitably made him feel taller, bigger,  _stronger_ , but he pushed those back… He didn't want it to go to his head...

He'd been in a closed space with his people on that ship, he had already met all of them long before the news hit them. He had been afraid of them suddenly treating him differently, or worse, feeling threatened, if they knew he wasn't human at all.

His worries turned out to be baseless. They accepted him anyway, he's their captain, and after some minor scuffles, arguing, and some explanations, followed by some pasta, things were settled without any injuries...

"As if we would believe some manipulated idiots..." The sullen response dampened these feelings, if only a little, and Veneziano watched them walk away, not willing to fight the marines. He sighed. Romano should be dealing with this, not him...

"Bunch of  _assholes…_ " Enzo grumbled, intoning each word and adjusting his hat. The other two agreed with silent but exacerbated nods. "Back to work then, ragazzi." The man clapped Veneziano on the back, the other two saluted them before running back, giving Veneziano reassuring smiles along the way.

Smiles which Veneziano returned, somewhat forceful. He lagged behind his vice-captain until the man stopped and glanced back at him. "Everything alright there?"

Veneziano tilted his head, his eyes wandering around in thought. "They said Romano nearly attacked some  _kids_."

Enzo slowed down, waiting for him to catch up. Once they were side by side, he spoke again. "Would he do that?"

Veneziano nearly scoffed in amusement, showing a small grin. "Romano's all bark and no bite, he would never attack without being attacked. He's usually harmless and wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Are  _you_  all bark and no bite?" Was the bemused response. That man seemed to have caught that the topic made Veneziano tense.

He smiled tiredly, but felt thankful for the man's attempt at distracting him. "I'm more ' _yapping_  and no bite', like those small little dogs, you know?"

"Oh, that's not what we saw these last few weeks. You've been incredibly helpful to this crew, better than any captain I've ever seen."

Oh, pride... Such a sweet feeling when it comes from his people. Veneziano felt his cheeks warming up, his smile widening. "You gain experience with time, bambino."

The man huffed with a smile, rubbing his stubble, not quite believing he was hearing this from someone who looked 20 years his junior. "Ah, now you're just bragging. How old were you again…?"

He shrugged, hands intertwining behind him. "Nhh, I'm not sure…? B-but you can start counting  _at some point_  in the 4th century..."

Enzo hissed as if feeling some kind of pain, hand taking his hat off to rub over his hair. "Buon Dio, Maria e Giuseppe..."

Veneziano felt like shrinking on the spot. "Sorry..."

"No, no, don't apologize… My poor brain just can't quite…  _grasp_  that amount of time. It's  _fine_ …" The man waved him off as he adjusted his hat over his head again. "Well, let's get back then. There's still a lot to be done for these refugees."

It was relieving to him that somehow, this didn't bother them as much as he thought it would, so Veneziano gave him a small grateful smile and nodded, following his vice-captain back to the ship.

He still would have to talk to his brother later, though… Veneziano wasn't sure what was wrong with him. Romano has always been like this, he always managed to get people angry, especially his own people.

He glanced in the direction of the parking lot, where his brother was waiting. It was like his anger influenced his people, which shouldn't come as a surprise, he's their Nation, however, Romano always seemed… out of touch with them.

Which made no sense. Romano was too hyper-aware of their presence and attention. So maybe it was something else entirely. He sighed. Veneziano wished he knew more about their kind, in the way humans knew about themselves. Maybe it was something that could be fixed or remedied.

Who's to say Nations couldn't have any unique disorders or ailments of their own...?

* * *

It had been more than one hour, and Romano was impatient. He had gone back to his car, knowing his brother would be able to find him fairly easily on his own, they're  _brothers_ after all. However, one hour was already past the limit, and Veneziano was abusing his generosity. So he left the car, door slamming loudly, and he stalked back to the dockyard.

Really, maybe he should just go home. Let him find his own way back.

He walked through the parking lot, past the entrance, and stopped by a building, where he could see the large crowd of refugees being guided by marines into check-up tents.

There were big lines mixed with the crowd, but it wasn't all that dense, and Romano had no issues with finding his brother in there. He spotted him, and huffed, shoulder leaning on the building as he crossed his arms.

There he was, around four or five people around him, shaking his hand and thanking him, he could see the light embarrassment and awkward glee on Veneziano's face. He could see other marines patting him on the back and grinning with a strange excitement, one even touching his brother's hair with a curious frown, making him turn red and step away with his hands raised, getting them all to laugh.

Romano's eyes narrowed. They knew Veneziano was a Nation? His brother wasn't the best liar, and being in an enclosed space with too many of his people probably didn't help.

He probably spilled the beans, a whole can of them. But… they didn't seem to have a problem with it… Of course not. He scowled, eyes darting away.

As usual, everyone  _ **loves**  _Veneziano… Even humans who aren't even Northern Italians seem to love him now. It burns inside and he can't deny that what he's feeling is envy. Veneziano is  _always_  the favorite, his people will love him unconditionally, while Romano's...

His arms uncrossed, his fists clenched, and his eyes glazed as he glared at the ground. He could see it already. Veneziano gets along with his own people, while Romano fights with his own. Veneziano was the  _real_   _Italy_ , everyone in the Union calls him  _Italy…_  The humans would accept him as Italy in its entirety, and then, who was Romano supposed to be?

Just a territory?

Romano gave the Southern Italians by the dock a sullen look that quickly changed into a bitter frown as he stalked away. He was back inside his car, arms and head resting on the steering wheel, mindlessly staring ahead. Dutifully, he kept his mind blank, he didn't want to think about any of this.

It wasn't until Veneziano opened the door and sat beside him that Romano wondered how long has it been since he purposely stopped thinking.

"Sorry, did I take too long?" His little brother asked, throwing his bags on the backseat as Romano put on some sunglasses to block the bright flash of light that would inevitably hit his face once they hit the road.

"Of course you did..." He grunted, quickly starting the car.

"Sorry..."

Romano sighed, maneuvering around the parking lot as quickly as he could without any accidents, and remaining silent. Soon, they were on the E45 highway, a long road that would be leading them back to Rome in a few hours.

Maybe it would have been faster to get a helicopter, but neither of them wanted to attract this much attention. It was just a few hours away, after all, and Romano actually liked driving. It was relaxing.

"So..." Veneziano started, turning on the radio just loud enough to muffle the silence, then leaning back on his seat. "Anything new these past few months?"

Romano felt his grip on the wheel loosen as he exhaled. "Well… I've been getting money for some restorations in Rome, which is nice… Uh, two American idiots carved stuff on dad's Colosseum with a fucking  _coin,"_  At this, Veneziano gaped, Romano rolled his eyes, nodding in understanding, but moved on. He'd raged enough back when it happened. "Ah, what else… Oh, they found Rancadore," Romano muttered amicably.

"Oooh, they found him?" His little brother beamed with wonder, his previous gloom pushed aside slowly. "Where was he?"

"In Britain's island."

"Ah, your mafia is really good at hiding… It's been two decades, how is his famiglia doing?"

Romano gave a deadpan stare at his brother's nonchalant tone. Veneziano has long stopped caring about what his mafia does in Sicily, or anywhere else. It's not that Romano minded this, he even helped them sometimes, but he simply didn't like to be pushed around for it.

The mafiosi never seem quite bothered by his attitude and he gets along with them better than with many of his civilian citizens, even if none of them ever even knew Romano wasn't human... "Haven't checked on them, but I'm sure they'll be fine as long as they lay low for now."

"Anything else?"

"Expo started with a goddamn  _mess._  Bunch of assholes in black started rioting and breaking shit, they made the media think the No-Expo protests were violent, they weren't!" Romano gestured to nothing in particular, if only to express his frustration at the memory of these events.

Veneziano gave him a half-lidded stare. "You were with those protestors, weren't you…?"

"Of course I was!" He raised his chin. "We have no money for this! It's not creating jobs, it's not helping at all! We're in the middle of a crisis here!"

"You know these things make money as well, fratello. We get a lot of tourists." Veneziano argued calmly, not fazed by his brother's angry rant.

"It's a risk! Can't we just focus on our own problems before investing in stuff like this? And we already get tourists anyway, from May to July is  _tourist_   _season!"_

Veneziano smiled in mild amusement. "Anything  _else_?"

Romano sighed and remained quiet for a second, finger tapping the steering wheel. "…Debt's still shit, birth rates are still dropping, economy's still a fucking pain. Also... some terrorists were planning to attack the Vatican..." At his brother's alarmed look, Romano continued. "We stopped them." A sigh of relief, and Romano couldn't help but raise an eyebrow and smirk. "Okay, I'm done for now."

"Don't scare me like that…!" He received a punch on the shoulder for his troubles, but Romano just snickered. It kinda hurt, though...

"Bene, bene. What about your time in the Mediterraneo?"

This seemed to make his brother's mood turn slightly somber, as he leaned back on his seat. "Well, we got nearly 700 people, which is a lot for one scout…" He stretched to grab something from one of his bags on the backseat, coming back with a bottle of water to drink. "I know other ships managed to save at least 6000 in total, but I can't help but feel like we missed a lot of people out there..." His voice faltered as he lowered his head.

"Hm, you say that because you were the captain giving directions. Don't be such an idiot, you did all you could and probably did a damn good job, too." Romano extended a hand, asking for the water.

"I guess so…" Veneziano opened the bottle to give it to him after he took a sip himself. He suddenly smiled brightly. "But you see, this lady had a baby on board!"

"Really?" Romano kept his tone neutral, letting his brother ramble on.

"Sì!" He nodded. "It was a girl, and she named her Francesca Marina in our honor!"

"After our Marina Militare, huh?" Romano gave him a small grin. It was nice to see his brother beaming like this. It seemed that  _saving_ people was the only thing that made him genuinely happy these days… "By the way, they seemed to know who you are..." He interrupted his brother, wiggling the bottle, then placing it on the cup holder. Somehow, he already expected this conversation to turn tense.

"Ah, right… I-I couldn't really keep my identity a secret, I had already talked to my entire crew by the time we left the port, and I was the captain, so…"

"...Did anyone react badly…?" Romano narrowed his eyes, gaze still locked on the road.

Veneziano winced lightly. "Well… just a little, I mean, it was awkward, and I had to explain some things, but overall, things went smoothly." He shrugged.

Of course it did. Romano's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Right." Veneziano was family, his only  _real_  family, so he didn't like this feeling. His little brother was just better at being a Nation, there was nothing he could, or  _should_  do about it.

"Romano..." Veneziano started with visible hesitation. "About what happened earlier… um, I think maybe-"

Romano closed his eyes for just a second. "Maybe nothing. It was just a little fight." He nearly hissed his words, his brows furrowed at the topic, his shoulders tensing. "…So my citizens are a little huffier than yours. It's not a big deal."

Veneziano frowned. "Romano-"

His teeth gritted. "I already  _said_  it was not a big deal! Just leave it be-"

" _Special news right now!_ _Upper House Senator to speak_ _with_   _RAI News and TG Com, a disclosure about last week's CIA incident and its contents regarding Italy-"_

Romano stared ahead with glassy eyes, hand still raised mid-gesture, while Veneziano stared at the radio, gaping. He looked at his older brother slowly. "Did you… give them permission… to do this…?"

Romano could feel his eye twitch. "No. I did  _not_."

The radio continued its chatter about the matter, a little 'press-conference' in a few hours, but they paid it no mind. "I'm s-sure they won't say anything bad..."

"We'll check who's giving this interview,  _then_  we'll see. There's plenty of people in the Upper House who don't like me..."

"There's plenty who don't like me, too, fratello..."

Romano huffed, not giving him a response. He didn't want to deal with any more humans, he's reached his quota for the day… Besides, if this turned into a mess, Veneziano would undoubtedly be a better neutralizing force. "If things get messy, you'll go there for some damage-control once we reach Rome." He decided.

Veneziano blinked, glancing at him. "Don't you want to come?"

" _No._ " His tone was final, leaving no room for rebuttal.

His little brother watched him for a few seconds before sighing, leaning closer to the door and staring at the passing scenery through the window. The rest of the ride would be silent with the exception of the radio and its constant buzz of bad news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More context and information in the original News Feed entry on FF.net.


	13. Outsider

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I have a problem with England, I just can't write him without feeling like it was awkward or something. Dialogue with him is always such a pain... Seriously.

**Bern (UTC +2) 2:38 p.m**

_'A warning. Media is looking for you, filtering doesn't work with them. Avoid causing a scene.'_

England scoffed, lowering the phone. The message was from Germany, who got it from Switzerland, the last guy they ever expected to make his presence known. Although, in a way, it made sense. He was never the type to dance around an issue...

He kept his head low for a second, then ran his hand over his hair so the strong wind wouldn't mess it up even more. He looked up with a deadpan. There he was. The reason why this meeting could end in a giant ugly mess.

If a  _helicopter_  were ever subtle, America would have picked a  _war chopper_  instead. England sighed and stood up from the bench as it landed, waiting with a weary expression.

As soon as it touched the helipad, the engine was killed and the door was pushed open, revealing his brusque of a son. He was wearing sunglasses, and looked smugger than usual in his not-quite-on-point suit that tussled even more in the wind. England raised an eyebrow, shoving his hands in his pockets as the helices slowed down.

There were many,  _many_  things he wanted to ask the boy…

"Great day, huh?" America greeted when he stood in front of him, hands on his hips as he took a deep breath.

"Yes, good weather." England droned. "But really, America, a  _helicopter_?"

"Hm? Why not?" He pushed the sunglasses, resting it on his head.

It's been a while since England's seen this kid without  _those_  glasses, but England pushed this aside. "They're  _looking_  for us. They know what they're looking for, and you know we stand out easily! Damn it, lad, what is wrong with you?"

America waved a hand dismissively. "Chill out, we're on top of a building, and they can't just  _assume_  that a helicopter landing here is what they're looking for." He said breezily with a laugh, throwing the keys up and down on his hand.

"Ever heard of something called 'minimization of damage'?"

"Nope." America chirped with a grin as he closed and locked the flying vehicle's doors. As if anyone would steal it.

England simmered silently before relaxing and crossing his arms. "Anyhow, did you at least brought us some good news?"

"Sure did. Didn't you say you found some henchmen at your place, too?" America hid his keys in his pocket, finding his old glasses inside his suit and replacing the sunglasses. Back to normal...

"Yes, we did… Some 'henchmen', as you eloquently put it." England frowned. "How  _did_  you get information from them again?"

"Huh?" America seemed genuinely confused. "Had my boys get it out of them, of course. Why?"

"You didn't get it yourself?"

America seemed to freeze for a second before he relaxes again. "Do you really expect me to go gung-ho on my own citizens? Heh, I know they're traitors, but still, come on." This came off with less enthusiasm than before, England could see him closing up, as seen by the way he crossed his arms and leaned back on the vehicle. He always does this when he doesn't want to talk about something...

America often forgets that England  _knows_ him, better than anyone.

"Oh, good. Here I thought you would have tried something you're just not capable of doing, being a brat and all." This was something England would prefer to stay away from... In this day and age, there were things that just… weren't acceptable, even behind closed doors, and England didn't need any extra weight to add to his already heavy conscience.

America quickly understood what he meant. "That thing only  _we_  can do? Of straight out  _stealing_  it from their minds?" America narrowed his eyes. "I thought you said that method was  _medieval_ and  _barbaric?"_

"It is. I just wanted to know if you'd decided to do it." Humans weren't exactly prepared to deal with the strain of a Nation breaking through their mind, and more often than not, death would follow… Either that or a coma.

To the Nation too, it was almost like a form of self-harm. Medieval and barbaric indeed.

"No, thank you. It's totally unamerican." The boy huffed, adjusting his collar and walking away. He seemed genuinely offended that England even suggested it. Good, England had one less concern in his mind, at the very least. America was too young for it and England was glad he wasn't willing to try it, despite its effectiveness, _for once._ Just practicing would cost countless human lives, one for each failed attempt. That's only for the brat, of course.

England had plenty of practice...

America stopped abruptly few steps ahead, as if suddenly remembering something. "Oh, right... Uh, Iggy?" He turned.

"Don't call me that." His response was mostly reflex.

"Yeah, whatever. Look, I've been meaning to tell you that you should help us out a bit more, y'know? You've been doing nothing for the war. Like, really  _nothing._ "

England blinked as his brain scurried around for an answer, then rolled his eyes when he realized what he was talking about, but didn't look at America again, he crossed his arms instead. "Excuse  _me_  if we wish to put some more thought into this, instead of simply following you in your  _misadventures_  again."

America frowned, looking offended once again. "Well, if you're okay with people being  _beheaded_  and stuff… You're at least keeping your defense budget at 2%, right?"

"Mind your own business, you cheeky brat."

"It's just in case, old man." Was all America said before he walked away, pushing the door open and going down the stairs.

"...Just in case... Right." England scoffed to himself and let him go in silence. He did  _not_ wish to continue that argument, even though he almost did on principle alone. He didn't like leaving a discussion without trampling someone's arguments. But this particular problem was about America... and  _Russia._

America never stopped being paranoid about Russia. 'Just in case' meant 'Just in case Russia decides to attack' or 'Just in case we need to attack Russia'. It's not that England wasn't worried about it, it's just that the kid made his distrust for the Slavic Nation  _too_  obvious.

Then there was the Middle East headache… England groaned, following him inside. It's not that he didn't want to help, his people were indeed bothered by all the violence, and so was England himself, it's been a  _long_  time since he's seen such systematic brutality, but… just remembering that disastrous campaign in 2003 was enough to stop him in his tracks.

America was strong, but was also  _careless_. Careless and reckless and not wise at all. Who's to say a parent can't learn from their kid's mistakes and total lack of common sense? He wouldn't let America drag him around like this.

England shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. That aside, he didn't know if Russia was around yet, and he preferred to be near the lad if and  _when_  they met. No matter how  _infuriating_  America managed to be.

Then there was this whole  _scandal_  to deal with, just another bloody bolder in the way... The older Nations aren't panicking so much about this whole issue, and he's sure  _China_  couldn't care less. He even declined to attend the meeting, instead, preferring to visit a relative and neighbor who had an earthquake just this week. England didn't remember his or her name now...

Overall, things were calmer than he'd expected and sure, everyone knew this revelation would be a problem, but there wasn't a sense of  _panic_. Albeit part of him felt like this was just the calm before the storm.

Germany seemed to be feeling this too, and was worried enough to put America and Russia in the same room, despite their current spat, so maybe he knew something they didn't.

Already inside, it didn't take long for England to find America again. He was talking with the man behind the counter, who was supposed to tell them where the meeting was. The man's eyes were wide and he looked very befuddled as he listened to America's non-stop rambling, who seemed very humored with his own monolog about… something England wouldn't bother himself with.

"Sir...?" The man interrupted, with a strong accent. "I'm... not sure I understand..."

America stopped and stared. "You Swiss have no sense of humor, do you?" England came just in time to pull him away.

"Stop stereotyping." He continued dragging him, already knowing where to go. "You're giving yourself an even worse name than you already have."

"Oh, please, everyone knows I'm  _awesome."_  England felt like he would be struggling not to roll his eyes many times over this day. Apparently, America pushed their previous conversation aside and forgot about it entirely, as he usually does whenever it's convenient.

They reached an elevator, and he stopped to look at America. Still smiling and acting as if nothing had happened, but looking down, England saw his foot tapping – England knew the lad's quirks, even when he tried hiding it – he's never been patient...

The elevator's doors opened and they walked in. America waltzed in quickly, England pressed the right number, and America brushed him aside to press the 'close door' button repeatedly until it obeyed him.

"Stop it." England grumbled, then sighed as the door closed. "America." He started with caution. There's something he wanted to ask him before the meeting… England couldn't avoid reading those leaked documents, and the things he found in there didn't give him any peace of mind. He might as well ask now that he had the time and opportunity.

"Hmm?"

England straightened his back and steeled himself to face America's stubbornness. "I know you're incredibly  _paranoid,"_  He started to probe.

"...Hey." America warned petulantly.

"but perhaps you should consider sharing some extra information _,_ at least with your allies?"

America raised an eyebrow, pausing for a second, giving England that quick glance with a calculating gleam that was gone in less than a second. "Isn't that why we're here?" He sounded genuinely curious.

"That as well, however, we are here primarily to set some  _rules._  What I meant is that maybe you should let us know what your government, and also possible dissidents, have on us. I'm assuming they must have  _something_ , since you let them have their way with your biological make-up."

America scoffed. "I didn't let anyone have anything, it was just a few tests and stuff. Why are you being so weird all the sudden?" He straightened like a proud bird, as he usually does when he feels affronted.

The elevator doors opened, and America walked out quickly, immediately going to the left, where he knew he would find a lounge room, with a  _coffee-maker._

"I'm not being  _weird_ ," England followed him, still not satisfied. "I want you to tell me about the 34 dead humans under your watch in 64." The comment made America tense for a second, but he kept walking without looking back. This mystery actually  _worried_  England, many scenarios played in his head over the course of the last few days, and they either gave him chills or made no sense at all with a little bit of scrutiny.

America quickly relaxed and let out a soundless laugh. "Seriously, what does that have to do with  _anything_? It was an accident with something  _else_ , it's got nothing to do with me!" America only turned to look at him briefly, leaning closer and raising his voice  _just_  a little.

He knew this trick. England wasn't intimidated. "Oh, forgive me if I don't believe you."

His eyes narrowed and then he gave him a mocking grin. "Well, that's  _your_  problem, isn't it?" He pushed the door open.

"Oh, Amérique, Angleterre."

"Que passa, you two," France and Spain. England grimaced, not really wanting to let America dodge the matter and not in the mood to deal with both of his neighbors, but overall, decided to sit with the Nations his age – his only option really – noting that America at least had the decency of sending a graceless 'yo' at them before going straight for the coffee machine, eager to brew himself a drink and expertly ignore everything else.

England nodded at his two neighbors – both dresses appropriately, France even tied his hair – noting his long-time rival's weary and tense posture as he perused something on his phone, eyes narrowing slightly every now and then. "How have you been?" England asked warily.

"Fine, Angleterre." Was all he gave him, but rose his head and spoke again after a pause. "It's been a few months already, it's not like I never had grief over my citizens' decision of being  _humorous_. Even nowadays, religion is still… a very touchy matter to some humans..." He shrugged, eyes darting back to his phone. Maybe he was reading some depressing news.

"Yes... I guess some people are still stuck in the Middle Ages."

Spain scoffed, smiling bitterly, eyes on his coffee, remaining strangely quiet.

England refrained from making a more personal remark. France was in no mood for these things, as no Nation would be after dealing with  _terrorists_. Religious jokes were rewarded with violence in the past, however, they and their people grew out of it, he supposed.

Not everyone, unfortunately. It seems Muhammad,  _'The Prophet'_  of the Muslims was off limits... France didn't expect a humorous magazine strip to attract extremists with guns, and his tolerance and trust with their religion have been steadily diminishing... From what England heard from his own Prime Minister, France even joined his security forces to help sniff out potential terrorists.

He's found enough threats hiding in plain sight to leave him wary.

It's been just a few months, and France was  _still_  in a prickly mood and with little patience to spare, especially when the Middle East was brought up, so England would leave him alone until he showed signs of improvement. "What were you discussing here, gentlemen?" England decided to steer away from the topic entirely.

Spain visibly brightened. "Children!" He chirped.

"Ah." England gave America a quick look and the other two followed. He was sitting on the counter beside the coffee-maker with a satisfied grin as he sipped his hot beverage, lost in his own little wonderland. But he snapped out of it once he processed what was said and caught them looking.

He sat there like a deer caught in the headlights. "Nope." Was all he said before he left his seat. "I'm outta here." He was gone before they could get another word out.

England smirked and all three muttered together.  _"Children."_ America always thinks he's old enough to not treat him as a father... A little annoying, and it ruffled his feathers, honestly, but England still knew the kid. He's too young for a Nation, and no matter how much he tried, he was still a child who grew up too quickly... Too bad he needed disasters like 1929's crash to show it... The day England visited him-

His thoughts were interrupted by the Spaniard beside him. "Ah...!" Spain's eyes widened for a second before he deflated. "I forgot to ask him about pequeño Méjico..."

England sighed, tossing memories aside, and turned to Spain. "I thought you didn't like that one..."

"It's not him, it's not that I didn't like him…"

"Then why don't you just call him, or visit, or  _something_? Instead of whining all the time like this?"

Spain looked absolutely thunderstruck. "He doesn't want to  _talk_  to me!"

France rolled his eyes dramatically. "What about vos multiple gamins in the South? If they don't wish to talk to you either, then  _why_  are you here? I thought this was about reaching as many Nations as possible without bringing  _everyone_  to one spot."

"No, they're okay… Except, well…" Spain didn't finish his sentence, instead resorted to pouting and scrapping at the table in contemplation.

England ignored it. It was certainly Spain's and  _only_  Spain's problem. "What about Portugal?" He probed, poking him on the shoulder. "Doesn't he have a little one in the South as well?"

"'Little'?" Spain raised an eyebrow, but shook his head and continued. "He does, but he said that he hasn't been able to contact him in a while now. He told me to ask Argentina when I get down there."

"Hmm..." England was worried for his friend. The two of them have been good chaps for a long time now, longer than even England himself thought possible, and he knew he was most likely having a minor yet controlled  _meltdown_  over his kid.

France waved a hand dismissively. "That brat dealt with our pirates when little, and he beat Netherlands out of his land once. I'm sure everything's fine."

Spain frowned, tilting his head, his tone hesitant. "...I thought Netherlands managed to find a better place to plant sugar and didn't count it as a loss?"

"That's not important." France waved him off entirely.

England sighed, already exhausted with these two. "I'll just ask Portugal myself."

"Hm..." France picked on his nails distractedly, or in a blase attempt to look distracted. "By the way, Angleterre…" England raised an eyebrow his tone. "How is that whole referendum idea going? Still thinking about it?"

England narrowed his eyes. "Did  _Germany_  ask you to bother me about that _?"_ He nearly hissed, finger tapping on the table impatiently. The moment the rest of the Union heard about  _that,_ it was always this non-stop annoyance. Here he thought they had forgotten about it…

"Non. I'm just curious." France shrugged with false innocence.

England crossed his arms and leaned back. "This is for me and my people to decide, so do me a favor and leave us be, frog."

"Ouuu, scary." France, for once, didn't try to look all that amused as he pushed himself to stand up. "I'll leave it to you Britanniques, then. I'm sure you won't become the Black Sheep of Europe.  _Again_." He waltzed out with his nose in the air, as he usually does, and England couldn't help but grit his teeth.

That's what he gets for being nice...! "French little twat..." Now he's alone with  _Spain_. Well, granted, he didn't fight with him like he used to, but… a few centuries of vexation and battle can't be forgotten that easily.

Despite his current economic improvements, Spain seemed to have a less sunny disposition at the moment, so England wasn't particularly miffed with his presence. He guessed that it had something to do with his government, with its sudden dislike for protests and manifestations. Spain has been  _quieter_  than usual. England had rolled his eyes when he first read about it a while ago. What was Spain even doing with his government…?

His thoughts were interrupted. "You're really considering leaving, aren't you…?"

England closed his eyes in irritation, sighing again. Why was everyone breathing on his neck because of this? Why was he so important now?! As much as Germany liked to prattle about European unity, England just didn't  _feel_   _it_. He didn't feel like he was part of this unity. He never did. It was just France and Germany, with the  _rest_  of them. England was  _never_  part of this. It was always just him and his brothers…

The rest was just… those guys _on_ _the continent_.

He wasn't sure about joining them, but now... he's not sure about leaving. He couldn't help but curse  _Cameron_  for even bringing it up, just to win his  _bloody_   _election_. "I hate the lot of you..." He muttered. They gave him  _nothing_  but headaches.

Spain tilted his head, giving him an asserting look, and leaned closer, his usual smile creeping on his face. "Buuut…?"

England merely  _glared_.

Spain raised his hands in a mocking surrender gesture, backing off quickly. "Muy bien, I won't ask. But a third of all tourists I get are  _your_  people, deranged drunks just like you, so don't act like you truly hate me, or the rest of us for that matter…" His tone became frigid.

England could practically feel the air turning icy, with that salty and old rivalry surfacing yet  _again_. "'Deranged', now?"

"Sí. Your people are all very condescending."

"Oh, yes,  _those Brits, barbarian_ _lot_ _, aren't they?"_  England mocked, finishing it off with a derisive scoff. It didn't have the expected effect when Spain didn't react, it only left a bad taste. Spain only watched him for a few seconds in silence before gazing at his coffee, wiggling the cup a little. England could see the lack of steam and he considered simply leaving the room.

"You would fit in better if you stopped pretending you're a superior outsider. Just because you live on that island, doesn't mean you're too far away to truly be a European and part of this union." Not stopping to look at his old rival, Spain stood up and left quietly. "It's not too late, you know?"

England stood still, glaring at cup he left behind. The door closed behind him, and England looked around the silent emptiness of the place, exhaling loudly. He's alone in the room again.

What a bloody surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More context and information in the original News Feed entry on FF.net.


	14. Good Friends

* * *

**Bern (UTC +2) 2:49 p.m**

America was out of that room in a flash.

He had no intention of listening to the old ex-colonialists have a nostalgia-trip and ramble about how rebellious and over-dramatic their ex-colonies were. Nope. No, sir. He kept walking with no particular destination in mind, sure that he would meet with someone who knew where the meeting room was, at some point, and if not, well, he would just wing it and find it anyway.

He looked down at the cup of coffee, still in his hand and now empty. He sighed, the corner of lips twisting upwards. He didn't want to just leave it  _anywhere,_  it had his DNA now! He probably wouldn't find a place to get rid of it, so he might have to take it home…

He twirled the cup in his hand. Too bad he couldn't make things combust at will with his mind yet. No one ever said it was possible, but America wouldn't lose hope.  _One day_  he would be able to burn the ties of the politicians he hated...

He'd barely turned around the corner when he spotted a familiar face. "Heya, Japan!" He waved, quickening his steps to reach him faster. Japan paused and looked up from his phone, straightening himself and giving him a composed smile as he approached. "Few months off of recession, huh? How does it feel?" America praised when he reached him, clapping him on the back.

Japan lurched forward a little, but didn't complain, only readjusted his suit. "Good afternoon, Amerika. Rebound has been slow, but I'm recovering, thank you for asking." He bowed quickly, and America tilted his head at his habit. It's always a bit funny and he never gets used to it.

"Great! I just got here!" He leaned closer, whispering as if this were a dirty secret. "Do you know where the meeting room is? I don't actually remember, I just remembered where to get coffee..." He wiggled the cup near his face to prove his point.

Japan's small smile widened just a bit. "Yes, I can take you there. Doitsu-san is here already." He gestured behind him.

"Awesome!" America nodded with a grin, walking forward with Japan right on his heels. "So," He started, grabbing Japan's attention again. "China really didn't want to come, huh? What did he say?"

Japan tilted his head thoughtfully. "Nepal had an aftershock earthquake just yesterday. My brother has decided to tend to him and told me to come instead. He didn't seem very concerned with this revelation…" China has been remarkably nonchalant about it, in fact.

"Well, I guess it's because he's old as hell? And old Nations never really care about anything?" America simply shrugged, although mentally, he made a few notes so he would remember to talk to China about this. He didn't want the old Asian saying something that would make  _everyone_ – including him – look  _bad._

Japan looked like he wanted to say something, his mouth opening, but then gave up on it, looking rather defeated. "I guess." He seemed to slow down on his path, head down with a light frown.

America looked back, raising an eyebrow. "What's up, man?" He couldn't help but sound a bit worried. Japan was rather hesitant around him last time they've met too, late April just this year when his Prime Minister delivered a speech to the US Congress. America thought he was just having trouble in the memory lane and would recover soon, but Japan was still down in the dumps, it seems.

It was an  _apology_  speech for his country's – and by extent, Japan's – war crimes. One that was repeated more than once since the war. It was understandable to feel down, as far as America was concerned, so he'd shrugged it off easily. He slowed down until the shorter Nation reached him, just to bump him with his elbow in camaraderie. "Hey, for all it's worth, I forgave you, you know?"

Japan seemed just a bit relieved, some weight lifting off his shoulders. "Thank you, Amerika. Your forgiveness means a lot to me..." He smiled bitterly, but it soon disappeared. "Korea and China, though..."

America scoffed and rolled his eyes. "They won't be happy until you're kneeling with your head on the ground so they can step on it."

"Indeed. Korea has been very… vocal... about me  _dodging_  responsibility, but I am  _not._  Don't you think I have paid enough…?"

America blinked in surprise, biting his lower lip, but ultimately didn't answer.

Japan stopped with hesitant movements, hands fiddling anxiously, and America turned to listen. "Is it really a problem that I wish to forget about this and move forward…? I feel like it's holding me back..."

America looked downwards. He didn't know what to tell his friend, especially when he himself had trouble admitting his own issues in history. "I-I dunno, man." He hated to sound hesitant and awkward, but this was a touchy matter, to  _any_  Nation.

Horrible past deeds…

But Japan was a really good friend now, so… No. He turned away again, he didn't want to talk about this, now that the thought about it. "Maybe you should talk with Germany." He forced his voice to sound more cheerful. "You two have the same issues, right?"

 _'As if I don't have anything on my record,'_  He mentally spat to himself.

"Right…" Japan sighed, but continued walking after him. "But could you possibly talk with Korea? He's been rather pushy about this. Talking with China would be a waste of time, though, so..."

"Yah, tell me about it! Don't worry, man, we're partners! I've got your back as long as you're on my side!" America turned with a perfect smile and a thumbs up, glad that the matter was dropped and hoping it was reassuring enough to lift Japan's spirits. It seemed like it did the trick, Japan seemed less gloomy, so he continued moving forward.

Although, now he had to talk with Korea, who has always been very bitter about Japan letting the soldiers use  _his_  women... as slaves for  _sex._

It was disgusting and cruel, sure, and America couldn't say his own soldiers haven't done the same every now and then abroad, but he always chalked it up to humans being humans. Some of them just left their inhibitions at home, and some were just too stressed out... He never  _told_  them to do anything, he wasn't even paying attention, and he's sure Japan wasn't either.

The more he thinks about it, the more it sounds like an excuse...

"Ah, America…!"

He heard him a few feet behind, interrupting his thoughts. "Hm?" He turned back, seeing Japan standing basically on the same spot.

"The meeting is in  _this_  room." He gestured at the double door beside him.

America gasped and quickly trotted back to his friend, hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry!" He chirped with a grin.

Japan looked mildly amused, which coming from  _Japan,_ meant he was  _definitely_  entertained. He pulled the handle and pushed the door open, America following right behind.

It was the standard meeting room for a small group of powerful Nations. Not a lot of furniture, nothing that could be used as improvised weapons – other than the chairs, which were usually welded to the ground nowadays – and probably had reinforced glass on the windows.

Hey, they might get violent sometimes, but they're still civilized. Nations will be Nations, America guessed, fighting is nearly  _always_  part of the equation. It's not like wounds wouldn't heal quickly and it's not like they could kill each other in a  _fist_   _fight –_ even if a knife or a gun  _was_  involved _–_  so this roughness was never a big deal. It's always been like this.

Humans were often a bit horrified, though…

America spotted Germany at the end of the table, eyes glued on his laptop and in his own bubble. Probably didn't even hear them arriving, and in the middle, with his feet on the table and a calm grin as he scrolled on his phone, was  _Denmark_.

America grinned, shoulders tensing a little, then turned to Japan. "So, you go talk to Germany, kay, Japan?" He patted the shorter Nation on the back, who looked somewhat confused, and walked towards the Nordic Nation.

Japan just shrugged and didn't ask questions, going towards the end of the room where the Germanic Nation was  _in the zone_  of his work.

Right off the bat, America couldn't pinpoint any problem with Denmark, he seemed to be in a good mood, although last time they spoke, he had expressed a certain  _worry_  over his Righ-Wing politicians – a feeling America was all  _too_  familiar with – who seemed to be climbing to power, and he pointedly mentioned that the  _refugees_  were the cause of that.

America could never refute that or do anything besides apologizing.

Most Nations were tired of pointing out that this was  _his_  fault, America too was tired of hearing it, but it resurfaced every now and then, and sometimes, it wasn't brought up to hurt him... In Denmark's case, it was usually to  _remind_  him. As a good friend.

America's own Right-Wing politicians would bitch and moan if they knew he was so close to a Nordic Nation, and America  _relished_  in that thought, so he giddily walked towards the Dane, slouching on the seat beside him, leaning close. "Whatcha doin'?"

Denmark jumped and leaned away, but relaxed quickly. "Hej, kiddo." He waved with a grin. "Looking up what my people have been saying. So far so good, except with the usual insults and lame jokes coming from Swedes, but that's nothing new."

Denmark's usual skirmishes with Sweden were almost legendary at this point. It literally never stopped, as far as America as concerned.

"No  _threats_  or anything weird?" America gave him a skeptic look, but the other shook his head with a smug smirk. America rolled his eyes with a grin. "Of  _course_  you get nothing. I'll have a barrage of crazy people with  _guns_  to deal with when I get home. A lot of them might be religious, too." America huffed in annoyance, but his tone said he was mostly joking.

It's not that he disliked his more religious people. In fact, they tended to be the ones who loved him – that is his country – the most. But he wasn't joking about the guns.

Denmark adjusted himself on his seat, feet off the table, grin still there, but with a certain admonishing touch to his speech. "You wouldn't have to worry so much if your people had better education, you know? Less religion and more concrete  _logic."_

America winced and leaned back, hand rubbing his forehead. He knew Denmark hated religious extremism of any kind, just as much as he disliked religions in general, and seemed to think some of America's citizens fit the bill of problematic religiousness. America was hesitant to agree that  _sometimes..._  his people went a little overboard. A minority of them... "Yeah, yeah... I can't do anything about  _that..."_

"Well, maybe that's why you're a bit stuck now." Denmark shrugged.

"You think it's that much of a problem?" America raised an eyebrow, curious. He's been kinda religious for most of his life, but Denmark's overall outlook of the matter made America curious...

* * *

Japan watched America converse with Denmark with a soft frown. "I didn't know they were good friends like this."

He was sitting beside Germany, whose ear twitched, indicating he heard him but didn't look up from the screen as he continuously typed with fast-paced motions and sporadic pauses. "They've grown close these last few years. I'm not sure why. Their personalities match, sure, but I don't know why  _now_  and without their governments' incentive." He shrugged.

"Well," Japan shook his head, pushing this matter aside. "anyway, Doitsu-san, what is your directory for this meeting?" He knew America had told him to ask Germany about… his dilemma… but he didn't feel comfortable bringing it up with anyone else, and he guessed Germany would feel just as uncomfortable with it. He had his brother to confide in.

So Japan avoided it altogether.

Germany stopped typing and looked at him. "We're going to set some rules today. Our usual conduct has never taken the general public into account, so now that our actions will most likely be under scrutiny, I think we should change how we act. The last thing we need is a bad image. Our history will give them enough fuel for attacks, so we must alter our behavior."

Japan nodded in agreement. "Yes, it'll be best if we act as human as possible from now on. But..." He looked around the room. "are you sure this will work? Most of us have habits that might look strange, if not dangerous from their perspective."

"We'll just have to drop them." Germany affirmed resolutely, but relaxed his posture after a second. "Or at least keep them very private."

Japan frowned lightly. "I will not drop my kendo training, but my usual location is already very secluded..." He rubbed his chin in thought. He probably wouldn't have to worry too much about it.

Germany gave him a cautious but appraising look. "You still practice with the sword?"

"Of course…" Japan glanced at America briefly. "Just because my military is limited, doesn't mean I would let myself become sloppy." He knew Germany would always have an appreciation for strict militant conduct, no matter his past.

Just like Japan would always appreciate the way of the sword, even when samurais were no longer the norm. It was also his way of venting over the fact that his military was so painfully restrained... Although... it always left him aware of the fact that he was  _much_  weaker nowadays.

"Hm." Germany nodded, fists clenching as he looked at the list of rules he's been writing on his laptop. "Still, we'll have to be careful. There is no Nation safe from their history. By human convention, we're all guilty of a number of crimes, if not by association with wars and... bad leaders." Germany seemed unnerved, eyes darting away.

Japan knew he  _hated_  talking about  _that man._ It always seemed to make him anxious. "Yes... But we could simply do our best to  _explain_  why we shouldn't be trialed as humans would. It wouldn't be fair." It didn't  _feel_ fair to be accused of things he hadn't personally done.  _He_ didn't touch any of Korea's women,  _or_  China's...  _He_  didn't start most of his wars and battles, those were caused by circumstances and by  _humans,_  rarely by Nations themselves.

"By extension, we would be asking to be treated as non-human, and what rights would we deserve then? Humans are already untrustful of small differences such as  _skin_   _color_. Now we're another  _species_  entirely for them, with sentience and free will. This is a completely new territory..." Germany pinched the bridge of his nose, as if the subject itself was tiresome.

Japan leaned back on his seat, hands close and fingers crossing on the tabletop. "You're saying it's either one or another? Be  _human_ and risk punishment for past crimes we didn't even commit, or... risk  _segregation?"_

Germany's eyes narrowed, knuckle nudging on his lips. He shook his head, seemingly conflicted. "I don't know. But I do know segregation is a real threat. Maybe it's not worth it." He scoffed and leaned back as well, shoulders slumped. "What's a few decades in prison, anyway...?"

Japan tilted his head, brows knitting upwards. "Our governments wouldn't let them..."

"If the people's trust is on the line..."

They both fell silent, feeling somewhat defeated. The only sound in the room was the rushed whispers between America and Denmark. Japan turned towards them, seeing Denmark explaining something to the young American, who seemed completely attentive for once. He couldn't quite understand what was being said.

The door opened, revealing  _France._  "Bonjour." He greeted, almost to himself as he strolled straight towards them, but not before turning solemn as he crossed eyes with Denmark. They both nodded in acknowledgment. Japan remembered that the Dane had been  _attacked_  as well, lost two citizens and had only a few more hurt, but that didn't prevent any mutual understanding of each other's feelings over it...

The two had exchanged plenty of condolences.

To Japan, the Frenchman seemed less flowery than the last time they've met  _many_  months ago. He didn't move as much, didn't dance with his posture as he used to. He was instead more controlled and calm, and Japan found this warranted, considering the most likely reason.

Germany adjusted his posture with a sigh and went back to typing.

"Allemagne, anything new?" France inquired as he sat on the table beside Japan, giving him a nod as a greeting, which Japan returned wordlessly.

"Nein. Although we  _are_  considering imprisonment..."

France winced. "I can't go to  _prison_ … My prisons are terrible!" Japan guessed that Germany and France already had a conversation earlier, and probably reached a similar conclusion on their own. Japan remained silent as France continued listing adjectives for his prisons rather dramatically. "Épouvantable, effroyable, foudroyant, moche…!"

"Halt den  _Mund..."_  Germany groaned, rubbing his temples.

France fell quiet with a self-satisfied grin that still looked a bit tired as he pushed a lock of hair behind the ear. "Well, you see, Allemagne, I don't think we need to go  _that_  far."

"You have a plan, now?" Germany threw the Frenchman a skeptical look.

"Oui! For now, we're a  _novelty,_  many people are  _curious._  What we do, is gain  _support_ before the novelty runs out." His grin widened as he crossed his arms, head tilting towards America quickly. "Le morveux already got himself a little headstart days ago, smart, non?"

"Amerika did?" Germany raised an eyebrow, eyes darting to the young Nation, then he scoffed. "Of course… I guess  _he_  of all people knows how to get publicity." Germany sounded rather suspicious...

"Talking about me there?" They heard America shout from his spot, seemingly miffed about being left out of the conversation that was clearly about him.

No one answered him, making the young Nation glare and huff, but they continued to stare with analytical eyes. "I guess we could ask him for some ideas? He  _is_  the king of advertising." France suggested, fingers tapping on the table rhythmically.

"Ja. However, I'm not comfortable with this." Germany admitted. Japan too couldn't imagine Germany on TV, being interviewed. It just looked wrong in his mind...

France shrugged, uncaring. "Ask Prusse. He would like the attention, non?"

"He's the  _last_  person I want on national television..."

France's smile became sly. "Beggars can't be choosers, mon amie."

The door opened again, this time revealing the dimmed sun that was Spain. Although, when he spotted France, the smile was back. He made his way to them, only glancing at America for a second – who seemed to be explaining something to the Dane – before shaking his head with a sigh.

He stopped in front of the three Nations, crossing his arms. "Anything new?"

Germany rolled his eyes at the repeated question.

"Oui. We might rot in jail unless we become lovable célébrités." France seemed to find the situation amusing.

Spain's brows shot up. "Eh, I always wanted to be interviewed! Suena divertido!"

Japan's eyes squinted a bit. They didn't sound worried, however, he saw their shoulders tense as imprisonment was mentioned. They didn't like the idea, and Japan admitted it scared him too. Germany seemed to be the most worried, though, and Japan knew he wasn't just worried for himself, but for all European Nations, much more than for any other, too.

France and Spain continued exchanging ideas until the door opened again, this time, a bit slower and wider, revealing a nearly scowling Englishman. The two barely glanced at him, continuing their own conversation, while Germany spared him a glance, shaking his head. Japan saw their eyes narrowing slightly, but other than that, there was no apparent hostility.

Not yet, at least.

England went straight to America instead, ignoring the other three Europeans altogether, and by consequence, ignored Japan as well. He sat beside America and Denmark.

He caught England's questioning tone. "Since  _when_  have you two been friends…?" They were talking out loud now, it was easy to hear it.

America shrugged. "What are you talking about? We've always been friends."

"Always?" Denmark interrupted with an amused smile. "Not when you tried to buy Greenland from me, we weren't."

"Okay, maybe not  _then,_ but-"

"Or when you accidentally dropped that  _nuke_  there. Or-"

"Okay! I was an asshole, I get it! Don't need to rub it in..."

Denmark only snickered, and America soon followed. Japan could see England narrowing his eyes at the two, as if suspicious of their motives, but shook his head and raised an eyebrow, pointing at the cup on the table. "Why do you  _still_  have that?" He inquired, sounding baffled.

America held on to it. "Oh, it's mine now."

Out of sheer disbelief, England seemed intent on figuring out  _why._ Denmark merely watched from the sidelines like a spectator on a comedy show.

This relative peace continued for a minute or so, Japan thought that maybe this wouldn't turn into a disorderly racket. That was before the door was opened once again, this time hitting the wall loudly, revealing a smiling face and purplish eyes.

America jumped and his head snapped at the direction of the sound. Japan saw his expression shift slowly into one of pure and unabashed  _disdain_. He saw Spain taking a step back, saw France crossing his arms and remaining calm, saw Germany narrowing his eyes, saw England standing up with obvious distrust, and saw Denmark watching the newcomer with caution.

Japan sighed, slouching on his seat. No, this  _would_  end badly, now that he thought about it...

That 'sweet' smile was ever-present, and it was all the evidence he needed. "Privet, friends! It's a lovely day for a meeting, da?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More context and information in the original News Feed entry on FF.net.


	15. Ticking Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: May contain controversial topics, read at your own discretion.

**Bern (UTC +2) 2:58 p.m**

The silence was stifling.

Germany narrowed his eyes, slowly lowering the laptop's screen to assess the whole room and its occupants better. Russia stood by the door with a fixed smile.

Everyone remained cautious and deathly quiet. Germany sighed. 'Desperate situations require desperate measures' is the perfect motto for their current predicament. It was why Germany called Russia in the first place.

America leaned back on his seat, turning to Germany while pointing at Russia with a thumb. "Now, who invited  _him?"_  A petulant grin was suddenly on his face.

There was no need to answer, America was just being childishly rhetorical, as he usually is whenever Russia is present.

Despite that, Russia blinked 'innocently', as if confused by the question, and approached the table. "Because I can reach my neighbors more easily than any of you." He stopped on the opposite side where he could look down on the younger Nation.

America didn't seem to like having the lower ground, so he stood up, still not quite reaching Russia's height, which made him fume visibly despite the obviously fake smile.

Germany stood up as well. "I have invited the Nations who can reach as many others as possible, as easily as possible. Russia can reach all of his…" He frowned.

Russia beamed. "Friends and family."

America scoffed with obvious derision and crossed his arms, smirk still present. "Yeah, sure. When are you letting go of Ukraine, by the way?" He narrowed his eyes, tilting his head.

However, Russia's smile widened. "You talk like I am holding her  _captive._  She is my sister, remember?" His eyes wandered upwards as he nudged his chin, as if a thought had struck him. "Hm... I am wondering, why is Amerika here? He only has a few neighbors who Ispaniya and Angliya can reach just fine, too."

America's expression twitched, nearly turning into a scowl, but he resisted and only widened his smile with a deep, calming breath as the light reflected on his glasses and hid his eyes.

Germany gave him proper recognition for not jumping at Russia right off the bat, but felt the need to de-escalate things quickly, he didn't know how long this would last and he didn't want a fight to break out before anything could get done. He could  _not_ let this move into politics.

He could see England cross his arms and narrow his eyes, and he could see Denmark frowning and tapping the table nervously, while France, who moved from the table to a chair, only rolled his eyes and crossed his legs with an elegant posture, head turning away as if saying 'I'm not getting involved'.

Spain, who was next to France, seemed to be lost is his own thoughts, while Japan continued to give Russia a subtle glare.

"Please, sit  _down."_  Germany stated firmly. "We're not here to argue about political issues. Amerika is here because his neighbors are closer  _and_  because of his client-States."

Only then Russia sat down, letting America have the feeble satisfaction of 'not giving in first', but nevertheless, continued. "Ah, yes. How are your colonies doing?"

"They're not 'colonies'," America gritted back, teeth gritting and smile wavering, his shoulders tensing. "They're small business-partners."

"Of course." Russia relented with an amused tone, but his eyes were still watchful.

Cautious.

Germany looked back and forth between the two, neither were being too aggressive yet – if anything it was merely  _passive-aggressiveness_  – and things would be fine is Russia just  _stopped_  provoking. He exhaled deeply. This would be a long meeting for them. "We will wait a few more minutes, although, I don't think Saudi intends to show up." He sat down with a half-lidded glare at the digital clock on his laptop.

3:01 p.m.

"Good..." America mumbled as he leaned on the table, fiddling with the cup he'd brought as if attempting to distract himself somehow, his fake smile dimming.

Russia responded immediately. "I thought you two were friends?"

Germany facepalmed silently.

_Crack._

The glass in his hands shattered and America was now glaring darkly, not bothered by the glass, patting his hands to clean it off the gloves.

 _'Why isn't he responding?'_  Germany noted absently, frowning, but ignored the thought and continued loudly. "Enough. We'll  _wait,_  and until then, not a sound! I do not want this to end in chaos before it even starts!" He snapped, making both parties look away.

It went back to a suffocating silence.

England remained quiet with his arms crossed, intending to avoid looking at Russia, or anyone, while Denmark pulled out his phone and texted something, which apparently went to America, who responded. In a second, the two were conversing through texts, with England trying to subtly spy on them out of bored curiosity.

Russia had quietly fished a book out of his long-coat and sat back to read, with  _Day of the Oprichnik_  written in Russian on its back.

Germany relaxed. Good, hopefully, they'd be able to keep this momentum going. America was being very quiet too… Strange, Germany thought. America has always been a bit loud, quick to respond and quick to fight back.

He's been less prone to talk when national or international topics are on the plate these days, while a few decades ago, he'd have bragged and showcased his well-earned bravado with subtle hints of presumptions, brash confidence, arrogance...

All of that, combined with his childishness was why it was infuriating to be his enemy.

Now, America was often…  _amicable,_  in a way, even while his country was still involved in at least seven interventions with other Nations and still had military bases all across the globe. This seemingly sudden silence worried Germany. What was he planning…?

He narrowed his eyes, but looked back at his computer screen, shaking his head lightly. No use fussing about it  _now,_  he had his hands full. Too full, one might say. This sudden change in status could  _not_  have happened at a worse time. It just couldn't. Germany was neck-deep into another crisis, and then there was  _Greece._

He scrolled down his e-mails, quickly finding his ongoing correspondence with the Greek Nation.

_Re: GRE – Austerity (45)_

One long chain of back-and-forth responses that Germany often felt the need to avoid and leave for later. Thinking about it only makes him wish he had  _more_  work to do, so he would have a better excuse to ignore it.

Then he glanced around the room.

Everyone except Russia seemed to be focused on their devices... Near him was France, who was typing nimbly and quickly with one hand, no smile on his face. Possibly chatting with Greece, and well… France was just incredibly determined to help him, and while Germany himself found it admirable, he was just plain  _tired_  of dealing with it.

Greece let his government accumulate a tremendous debt and he let things fall apart. In any civilized government nowadays, especially within their Union, the Nation is supposed to be the voice of  _reason_  and  _wisdom,_  the one the people can  _always_  count to be on their side, even when they didn't know about their existence.

But Greece preferred to lay back and relax, just let his government do whatever they wanted, just enjoy Germany's money as if it were strings-free. Now look at the result, the EU was banking him out of trouble with bailouts, taxpayer money from all across Europe. The German citizens were steadily losing patience with these bailouts, it was  _their_  tax money, they didn't want it to go anywhere  _but_  their own government, especially when the help seemed to be for naught…!

This was the  _third_  bailout...!

Germany noticed his expression was hardening, he was fuming mentally, so he took a second to breathe and relax. He clicked on the newest e-mail. He didn't have time to answer it now – even if he did, he would  _still_  find the time to procrastinate – so he skimmed over it, already knowing what it was about.

_'I have been doing everything you asked of me, exactly as you said, but it is just not working. My new PM wants to negotiate the terms of the bailout, but I think we should find something else. Austerity doesn't work and it's only making things worse. Please, let's think of something else.'_

Germany shook his head. He would love to disagree, but he couldn't help but feel sympathy. He's been there, after all. He knows how it feels to have such a depressing economy.

It's pure  _hell…_

Seemingly never-ending, like the pain will never  _ever_  stop, and at some point, it would feel like there was nothing left to lose, so  _'why not side with the ones who provide the most escapism from it?'_  one would think. If things kept going down like this, Greece was going to snap just like Germany did… He would fall into the trap that is  _n_ _ationalism._

He tapped the  _Enter_  button to reply lightly, wavering.

Now there were people talking about a  _'Grexit'_  of all things... It just seemed like another strong sign that something was seriously wrong, but if Germany were to be honest with himself, he would say he wasn't  _too_  worried about it.

Greece is  _nothing_  like him. His new leader isn't like  _that man._  They can't, and  _won't,_  cause any war on their own. There's just  _no_  way…

_...He hated that he had to repeat this to himself..._

So this didn't worry Germany so much. No. Not as much as Britain's threat of leaving. Germany glanced at the Britishman, seeing he was also focused on his phone.

England and Greece are completely different cases as well, Germany justified as he stared blankly at the e-mail. His own government was simply running out of patience and many wanted the Greeks out as well, if only to get rid of a nuisance.

_Germany wasn't being unfair. He was being reasonable._

Surely it would be better in the end, surely it would put out the nationalistic flames once they had what they wanted... Germany knew it first hand. Nationalism is such an addicting feeling, it feels  _wonderful,_ it makes a Nation feel strong- _valuable, loved, happy, proud_ -but it corrupts easily, just as drugs and money do to humans.

It's why the overly nationalistic Greek party, the  _Golden Dawn,_  was what actually worried Germany  _–_  they inspired themselves on his greatest shame, how could he  _not_  worry?!  _–_ and he hoped they would be able to curb it before it took over. Maybe if they got this  _exit_ , it would be the end of it.

They would all find a job and move on with their lives... It certainly felt like wishful thinking...

The signs of a poisonous nationalism were already present within Greece's government and Germany didn't know  _what to do_  anymore. Maybe it was a matter of time before Greece himself started acting out.

He felt like he had a ticking time-bomb in his hands…

Many of their fellow Union-members have pinned this as Germany's responsibility, too, as France wanted to help Greece, and should Germany step away and  _let_  him leave, an inevitable schism between the two main pillars of this Union would surge.

That would be catastrophic for Europe…

It would be the  _beginning of the end_  of everything they've worked for. Unity and peace, no matter what. Germany could  _not_  let it fall apart on their very first major crisis, no matter how difficult it proved to be.

It's also one of the few things he and Italy agreed on these days. Neither of them were in a position to say 'no' to redemption for that damned war... Italy wanted to help as many as possible, a non-stop campaign for self-forgiveness, and after what Germany did to Greece during that last war, it's the  _least_  Italy expects of him.

Enough is enough, he had said. The Greeks and their Nation have suffered enough, he had said...

"I think we've waited enough." America shouted from his seat, loudly cutting through his thoughts. "He's definitely not bothering with us, and even is he's late, well..." He shrugged, and even Russia seemed to privately agree with the last part.

"I guess so..." Germany nodded, seeing the time.

3:15 p.m.

He sighed, somewhat expecting such thing. Saudi is one of the few Arabic Nations they could reach in the Middle East, and only because America was his ally, but he didn't seem to like them very much...

Despite that, he needed to call  _someone._  The information wouldn't reach those Nations on its own – was it even necessary? – and moreover, Iraq and Syria were still  _nowhere_  to be found, so they would be left in the dark as well, if they were even  _alive_  at this point…

Such terrible planning on his part, but Germany admitted he was in a rush when deciding who to call and with which protocol.

It was an emergency…

So he pushed these thoughts aside and stood up, clearing his throat. "Alright. First, I would like to remind you all of the rules." Germany crossed his arms behind him and surveyed the room. "No personal conflict will be taken as a political action, and no government will act upon their Nation being attacked in any way, shape, or form, nor will you coerce your government or citizens into action as retaliation for current  _or_  past deeds. These are the basic rules we have agreed on, correct?"

Everyone nodded.

"As I have discussed with Frankreich and Japan, there could be a few situations we might have to deal with now that our identities were revealed." He saw a few eyes briefly turn towards America, who leaned back with his arms crossed and pretended not to care. "First, we might be held accountable for past wars and conflicts, whether they'll ask for a trial or not is up to each country, I assume-" He stopped when Spain raised his hand rather shyly. Germany grimaced in annoyance. "Yes?" He drawled.

"Can I sue Inglaterra for all the ships he destroyed back in the 1500's?"

"Wot?" England looked up from his seat, as if hearing his name – even in Spanish – had snapped him out of his own thoughts.

Germany stared, unimpressed. "No. Don't interrupt me with  _stupid_  questions again."

Spain deflated as England glared. "Just an idea…"

"No suing." Germany repeated firmly. "Anyway-Oh,  _what?"_

France had his hand up, not abashed at all. "Can I  _marry_  someone?"

Germany narrowed his eyes in confusion. "...Why would you-No, you know what? Do whatever you want, but stay away from  _my citizens."_

"Seconded." England piped in with a scorn, followed by the others muttering their own agreements with varying degrees of rudeness and distaste.

France crossed his arms and huffed, seemingly offended. "As if I'd  _ever_  marry an Englishwoman..."

"I'm sorry,  _what?"_

"Shut up!" Germany yelled as America tried hiding a snicker and failed to do so. "Here are our options! We can do as Frankreich recommended and gain support before they start to ask too many questions, get people to like you, I don't care how.  _Or,_  you can hide behind your government and wait until your history comes back to haunt you,  _or_  just go into  _hiding,_  off the grid." Germany shrugged, straightening his posture as he simmered down. "Any questions  _now?"_

"Ah," Russia was the one to speak first. "What if I don't want to do any of that? Can I just  _not_  do anything? I don't think my children will have a problem with me."

Germany saw America roll his eyes, but stared at Russia for a few seconds. "I guess  _you_  can. Amerika," He turned to the other Nation, who perked up when hearing his name, he had a hand under his chin as he listened with attention. "This goes double for you. Many will be paying extra attention to you, so stay out of trouble. Get a good publicity for everyone. You can do that, can't you?" Germany raised an eyebrow.

A bright smile was on America's face as he saluted cheerfully. "On it!"

Russia tilted his head at this, seemingly thoughtful suddenly. Germany continued. "Well, along with that, we should find people to vouch for us, and whoever has royalty, ask them for a vote of confidence to the public as well."

To that, Japan, England, Denmark, and Spain nodded.

"So in order, first, you contact the Nations you know best and explain these rules and ideas. I'll take care of the EU, some there had a few colonies before… Amerika will contact his neighbors, his client-States, along with Türkei and Saudi –  _as he won't bother to come –_  England, Frankreich, Spanien will go to their former colonies – and don't forget to talk to your brother, Spanien, he has a few former colonies as well, same for you, England – Dänemark will talk to the other Nordics and his colonies, and Russland, you have your 'friends and family'… After that, find humans to vouch for you, then have your leaders speak up. When you think you have enough people on your side, you can have an interview, if you're comfortable with it. Understood?" Germany exhaled once he was done.

It seemed everyone understood everything they should do. If they didn't... Ah, Germany did  _not_  wish to explain this again... However, he frowned when he saw Russia raising his hand, his smile absent. Instead, he seemed a bit worried. "What is it?" Germany droned.

"I have been thinking, about this plan… Why is  _Amerika_  responsible for presenting a good image of us...?"

Before Germany could explain himself, America stood up. "Didn't you say you didn't want to do anything like this?" He crossed his arms, eyes narrowing.

"I do not." Russia shrugged. "But you are not the best among us, you're one of the  _worst._  Why not your brother? He's much nicer…" He seemed genuinely confused for once.

"Huh?!" America snapped. "How am  _I_  the worst?! If anything, that's  _you!"_

Germany looked back and forth as the argument escalated. Well, he's laid out the rules and the plan, he was done for now, wasn't he...?

"I said  _one_  of the worst, but  _the_  worst fits as well. I can not be the worst, I am not the one selling weapons to a terrorist-Nation."

"You're selling weapons too, you asshat!"

"Not to a  _terrorist."_

Just like that, America opened his mouth to talk back, but choked up and scowled instead, Germany could see his entire posture change completely, so he sighed and quietly closed his laptop. They would have to continue this later. They hadn't seen each other in a while, so everyone was understandly stressed with pent-up frustrations they needed to air out.

"By the way, Amerika," Russia continued, eyes narrowing as he stood up as well, obviously readying himself for an attack. "I have been meaning to ask... When exactly are you leaving Siriya alone? You already killed Irak, I do not wish to see my friend dead as well."

That was it, no words were exchanged, both England and Denmark stepped away, not attempting to stop the inevitable and America flew across the table.

Germany ignored it and grumbled as he closed his suitcase neatly, while everyone watched, somewhat unsurprised, as the fight broke out. He moved out of the way just as Russia threw America at his direction, then Russia walked over the table after him.

Spain took this chance to get up and go after England, mumbling. "I still want payback for those ships..."

England scoffed, hands on his hips to look even more condescending. "It was a  _war,_  you wanker. That was not  _my_  fault."

"You were a  _pirate!_  It was no  _legal_  war!"

"It was 500 years ago! Why are you still on about this?!"

Denmark only watched the scuffle for a second before he started filming the whole thing. Well, he didn't seem worried...

On his way out, Germany tilted his head, just in time to hear the gunshot and ignore the bullet as it hit the wall beside his head. He was out of the room when he took a second to mutter in annoyance as the noise continued inside. "Idioten überall..."

Something broke in there and Spanish curses were heard. He didn't care. Venting would do them some good. Maybe then they would have something productive out of this.

France and Japan walked out of the room as well. "Eh bien, what did you expect, mon ami?" France shrugged, hands up.

Japan merely scrolled on his phone distractedly.

Germany stopped and stared for a second. "Well… I expected things to go to hell a lot sooner, now that I think about it…" He sighed, hand rubbing his forehead and then aligning his hair properly. "Still… it was foolish to think this new crisis would make Amerika and Russland stop antagonizing each other for a few hours. But maybe they need to get this out of the way first."

France chuckled, nodding in agreement. "The Cold War was never over, was it?"

Germany quietly agreed with a nod as well. The Soviet Union might have fallen, but Russia simply got back up. It seemed like it was never over, it was just a short 'time-out'… "Anyhow, we're going with your idea for now. Although, I think we should wait a little, to see how Amerika deals with it."

France nodded. "Oui, I shall contact humans I trust and wait. I believe the others will do the same."

"Ja, it's common sense, after all." Germany glanced at Japan, who had a somewhat troubled look on his face. "Something wrong, Japan?"

"Eh?" Japan looked up, startled, then looked back down. "I-I think so… Look." He handed him the phone just as Russia crashed through the door and quickly threw the metal pipe back inside– where did he find  _that?_  – before running back in at the sound of America being hit by said metallic object and letting out a startled  _'Fuck!'._

 _"That was not very nice, was it?"_ Came the chillingly cheerful response, followed by more gunshots.

The three Nations ignored it and focused on the screen where a photo could be seen on a blog post. "This is… What is her name again?" Germany recognized her as China's  _daughter,_  but didn't understand what was written.

Japan noticed his confusion and spoke quietly. "This is Taiwan, my niece… A-Apparently she was writing a blog secretly, and now…"

"Oou… She posted a picture." France supplied as he took the device from him with a sly grin. "No care for any consequences, non?"

"Not just that…" Japan sighed. "She is throwing a  _party..._  to let people meet her…"

Germany immediately facepalmed. How many times has he done so...? "How  _long_  ago?"

"A few hours ago, it seems… It must be night-time for her, so..."

"We'll meet here again in a few hours." Germany didn't want to hear anything else, he walked away, his own phone in hand so he could make a few calls. He pushed the button to call the elevator, it opened immediately and Germany stepped inside, phone next to his ear.

 _"Should I tell Amerika...?"_  He heard Japan mutter.

 _"I don't see why not."_  Was France's uncaring response.

Anything else was cut as the doors closed, and Germany finally cursed. "Verdammt...! Can't  _anyone_  have some common sense for once...?!" He yelled at nothing in particular. They barely started and things have already  _derailed..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More context and information in the original News Feed entry on FF.net.


	16. Party Crasher

**Taipei (UTC +8) 8:22 p.m**

Taiwan watched with wide eyes the entire area from her strategic position, not willing to walk out just yet. This was a lot more… intense than she originally intended… This was  _huge_. There was a  _lot_  of people.

Her cover sighed. "You can't just hide behind me, Taiwan..."

She blinked and hid even more, stuttering. "I-I know…! I just didn't think..."

"That there would be this many people?"

She nodded with a whine, grimacing, her grip tightening around her president's arm.

"Oouch..." He winced, pulling away in reflex.

"Sorry..." Taiwan lightened her grip and took a deep breath. It was an open square in downtown Taipei where a 'party' of sorts was happening, a little festival of sorts. She didn't organize it, but decided to tell her followers that she would be there.

They could  _meet_  her then.

But now that she was here… it suddenly dawned on her. These were her  _citizens._  Not her president or any politician. She's never actually talked to them like this, with them knowing who she was…! It made her anxious and dizzy, her legs felt weak suddenly. Would they like her? Would they judge her? What would they ask? Did they even believe her?

Well, the fact that Nations looked so  _distinct_  in a way was spreading very quickly across social media and it should be proof enough, but that doesn't mean they'll all know right away. Maybe not everyone was even aware of her existence.

"Come on, Taiwan." Her president said with a tired sigh. "Maybe you shouldn't do this, you shouldn't  _disobey_  China."

Taiwan huffed, stepping away. "You don't actually want me to do this, do you?"

"Well…" The man, who she casually called Ma, winced, as if her comment had stabbed him. "I don't want us to get into  _trouble..._  Can't you just talk it out with him…? He's your father. You're supposed to-"

"Honor my elders, yeah." She droned, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. "But he's  _not_  my father." She knew this wasn't technically true, but she knew renouncing China hurt the elder Nation, so she would do it, as a retaliation. "He's a controlling jerk! I'm a grown up now! I can make my own decisions!"

"I thought your relationships worked based on  _politics_ , not like actual human families..." He shot back quietly.

Taiwan narrowed her eyes. "What do  _you_  know about politics, Ma? You're terrible at it! You nearly got  _arrested_  for playing politics with people who are better at it than you."

Ma flinched and took a step back. "I-I'm sorry…! I didn't mean it like that! I know I'm a terrible president, b-but it wouldn't have been like that if you had  _helped_  me…!"

Taiwan gave him a half-lidded stare, evident pity showing on her face. She sighed, posture relaxing. "I didn't let you get arrested, did I?" She said reassuringly. "But you're too pro-China, Ma… That's  _not_  what I want right now. If you're not going to help me, I'm not going to help you." She finished with a shrug.

"I understand, I guess… I  _still_  think this is a bad idea. You know China is willing to use force to make you stop. I just don't really want to see you, or  _anyone_  getting hurt."

Taiwan nodded and patted him on the head, like one would do to a child, which would have looked strange to anyone watching, since the man was taller than her. "I know, I know… You're just too nice for this job, Ma."

"I suppose so..." Her president slumped down with the discouragement, and didn't seem to like being treated as such, but also didn't seem to have the energy to fight back. He never seems to have the energy to resist to Taiwan's whims.

"Well," She started, hands on her hips. "You reminded me that this is necessary. Thanks!"

Ma only sighed and apparently gave up.

"You don't want to come with me, right?"

"Ah… well… No, I would rather not. I still think you shouldn't be alone, though."

Taiwan scoffed and turned around, walking away and waving back with her arm high up in the air. "I can defend myself, Ma!" She called with a sing-song tone. "Don't worry! I'll be back before midnight!" She found it understandable that he didn't want to be in the presence of the public, of course. He wasn't exactly liked by…  _anyone,_  at the moment. Ma really managed to smear his own image while trying to fight corrupt politicians, of all things. It just proves again that nice and good people can't play politics.

Taiwan already knew that and she pitied her poor president…

But now, this wasn't about him. This was about  _her_. She sighed and tightened her ponytail again, adjusting the flower perched on her hair, making sure everything was okay, no dirt on her clothes, nothing on her face besides some very light makeup. Not like she needed to cover anything, Nations don't really have skin problems, so she didn't envy the humans there…

"Okay, here we go..." The place was definitely more crowded than usual, but she spotted a few food stands… Oh, it wouldn't hurt to have one. So she bought some cake. Taiwan blessed her physiology and metabolism for not letting her go overweight.

She watched the people walking around, many squirmed closer to stands where they could buy things and eat good food. Maybe she should find a spot where she can be seen, an empty stand near the center-Oh, this is a  _really_  good cake, she thought to herself, moaning at the sweet taste.

To the left, she could see some stands selling trinkets and T's and to the right, there was food and cheap-but-cute wares. Taiwan tilted her head, maybe just walking around wouldn't do. Maybe she needed to move and make a bit of noise…

But she didn't want to stand on a table and yell to attract attention… That would be horrendously embarrassing. She sighed and threw the plastic plate and fork in a trashcan, nudging her chin in thought.

What to do then…? After a second, she snapped her fingers, smiling coyly. She quickly went to a stand with some electronics and bought some small, bright pink, headphones.

The young man selling it to her stared with wide eyes, and Taiwan felt that he was doubtful, as if not knowing what to think, as if not quite sure. Did he notice who she was? Well, that's the effect she wanted.

Headphones in place, she used her phone to turn on some music. Taiwan didn't want to pay attention to who was looking at her. No. She would enjoy herself like normal and ignore the world, buy things and walk in rhythm with the music.

Ah, a nice pop tune with a techno-style setting the pace was perfect. Taiwan nodded to herself. Let the fun-spree begin!

First things first. She shimmered past people and bought a fun-looking jacket, bright red and not even long enough to reach her waist, then bought some more food, complimented whoever sold it, bought a cute purple wristband, then bought a cute panda keychain with a little bell and left it hanging from the front pocket of her jeans, all while not paying attention to whoever noticed her – which they did – it was easy to ignore it with the music.

Her steps were rhythmic and skippy as she hummed, until she reached the small but bright arcade, an 'old' but fun relic for the young people nowadays.

She'd spent  _many_  hours with Hong Kong around those little machines, whenever he visited her. They've been best friends for a while, and this was a little competition they had – and to think they only began to bond over their mutual rebellious distaste for China…

Taiwan had no true best-friend other than her little brother.

Maybe she should have invited him… But no, she knew he was probably planning something similar to her little party. She would call him later and they would exchange ideas.

Now she had some scores to beat. These kids wouldn't see her coming. Her grin was mischievous, but nothing was quite as sweet as destroying other people's scores. There were plenty of people looking at her at this point, according to her senses, so she pushed them aside and power-walked to the arcade machines.

Now this would be fun.

* * *

America grinned at the reflection, not spotting anything wrong with the way he currently looked, then nodded to himself, leaving the bathroom satisfied.

He pushed the door open and was greeted by the smell of the delicious food from the small restaurant packed with quite a few Taiwanese looking for cheap but good food.

No one had paid him any mind, so he'd waltzed into the bathroom without buying anything – even if he only wanted a place to change and use the mirror.

' _I might as well buy something.'_ America thought as he adjusted the backpack on his back, which carried the fancy suit he'd been wearing. It was inevitably making him look like a snob, so he had to take it off.

Now he was dressed normally, with a cool T-shirt that said  _'To save time, just assume I'm never wrong'_ in bold letters, along with some old jeans tucked into the military boots he's so used to wearing, with a normal jacket to hide the fact that he's armed, and the usual gloves.

Much easier to blend in now.

He didn't have too much time to waste, though, so he hurriedly bought some alcohol to drink, something branded as  _Taiwan Beer,_  funny enough, and lucky for him, he looked old enough to buy them here. Drinking age for Taiwan's people is set to 18. America looked 19, 20 at best, so he had no trouble.

Buying a drink at home is always such a  _pain…_

That done, he first went to where he parked a rented car, opening it just to throw the backpack in, then closed and locked it while taking a long swig. Oh, it's been a while since he's had some good alcohol…

From there, he followed the road to downtown, where with his sharp senses, he could hear music in the distance. It was nighttime and the city was brightly illuminated, so America focused on that as he walked, ignoring everything and everyone.

Just the day before, he was at Bern, having a scuffle with goddamn  _Russia_ , but it ended as it usually ends. That is, until someone breaks something that shouldn't be broken, in this case, the window.

Supposedly  _bullet_   _proof_ , but that didn't stop America's momentum. Hitting the ground many floors below hurt a lot more than he thought it would… He hummed to himself, eyes narrowing. He's been getting careless while Russia has been growing stronger, not as much as America himself, of course, but still kinda worrisome.

He supposed the sanctions weren't enough…

But then Japan came with news on an unexpected development, and there was  _no_  way he would miss this opportunity. He decided to forget about Russia and the meeting, and find a way to reach Taiwan's home as quickly as possible, which took him around 12 hours…

He sighed as he drank, his brows furrowing upwards in worry. Now that people knew about him, he only needed  _support_. Hiding would only spur the spreading of negative theories, and in the worst case scenario, he would be branded as his  _government_.

A lying bastard with imperialistic tendencies. The big bad police officer of the world.

America wasn't like that… not anymore, that is… He could  _not_ have people thinking like this, so he hatched a little improvised idea with the given situation. Well... what he was about to do  _could_  be seen as imperialistic policing, in a way, but he accepted that there was no way he would be avoiding the negative PR, no matter what he did. He could only… minimize the damage, as England puts it.

He wasn't there to make a mess.

He simply wanted  _China_  to calm down. This party Taiwan is throwing will certainly reach the old croon's ears and there was  _no way_  he would stay quiet. That prick certainly didn't care about his identity being revealed, he would carry on as usual and crush Taiwan's movement, in front of cameras if needed. What he does and says will be on record.

So America would have to do some damage control and get something good out it. Yeah, he was there to show he's  _diplomatic_  and willing to talk, not to mention a badass. He's  _not_  a gun-totting warmonger… Would it look bad if they found out he was armed all the time? Maybe he should have left it at home...

"Hey, mister!"

He blinked, stopping and looking behind him. A Taiwanese boy with an accent, 14 at best. America raised an eyebrow, he must have been very distracted with his own thoughts to not hear someone running behind him. Careless again... "Yeah?"

The boy was alone, with his hands inside the pockets of his zipped jacket, and didn't seem scared at all, which is good. But then again, he's Taiwan's. America couldn't tell for sure what he was feeling and thinking.

He had a somewhat bewildered look on his face and pointed at America. "You're one of those country-things, aren't you?"

America felt his shoulders relaxing as he rolled his eyes, but continued walking. "That's rude, I have  _feelings_ , you know?" He said in mock-hurt. As he expected, the boy followed him. He didn't like being followed, but hopefully, this kid would go home soon.

"I read online that you guys look weird, like, color-weird. And I saw that our, uh..."

"Nation?"

"Yeah, I saw that it's a  _she_ here, so who are  _you?"_

"Why don't you guess?" America shrugged.

The kid stayed quiet for a few seconds, as if sizing him up. "Are you the one from the UK?"

America scoffed. "Do I sound  _British_  to you?"

"Hm... Russian?"

He turned with an unimpressed stare. "Are you kidding me right now...?"

The boy seemed to take notice of his distaste and nodded in understanding. "Oh, America, then?"

Isn't it usually obvious? "Bingo." He sighed with a satisfied grin as he continued drinking.

He could see from the corner of his eye that the boy was frowning, regarding him with suspicion. "Why are you here, then?"

"Whoa, why so  _suspicious_  already?" America raised his hand in amity, now feeling a bit amused with the situation. "Can't I just visit a friend?"

"Well, my mom said the United States won't recognize our country's sovereignty because of China. If you were Mei Mei's friend, then you would tell the Chinese to suck it, right?" Oh, is this brat trying to  _guilt_ - _trip_  him?

America maintained his smile, but narrowed his eyes. "Well, I would  _love_  to tell China to suck it, but there's politics in it, and I can't just do whatever I want. I'm not some  _overlord_  ruling the world, y'know?"

The boy's lips curled at the corner, giving him a half-lidded stare, as if saying 'yeah, right'. "Uh-huh…"

"Something tells me your mother said  _more_  about my country."

"Isn't that  _you?"_ The boy tilted his head.

America chuckled, eyeing his nearly empty bottle distractedly. "I can't be  _the_  country, I'm just that country's Nation."

"Isn't that the same thing…?"

"Nope!" America put an end to the conversation as soon as he reached his target-area. He stopped and looked around, hand nudging his chin in thought. "Hm… I'll just follow the crowd." He mumbled.

The young little Taiwanese was still following him, most likely out of pure curiosity, and America couldn't say it didn't make him uncomfortable, he didn't like being followed, ever. America watched the boy with some caution, then relaxed after a second. It's just a human child, he should just ignore him for the most part.

Judging by Taiwan's online post, it seemed like she intended to attract attention, so he would juts go to where most people were gathered. Maybe ask around a little.

Easy enough.

It wasn't an actual  _mission_ in any way, he wasn't in any hurry yet. Despite that, he didn't let himself be distracted by food stands. He hates to admit how much he loves foreign dishes, but he couldn't help it, he's always been sorta fascinated by how different other Nations were…

He saw a stand with what seemed to be crispy nuggets? He wasn't sure, it could something else… Pushing his curiosity aside, America turned away and wandered around the area where people were still too dispersed, hoping to find out where they were going, until he found a place where an arcade of sorts was set up.

And there, he spotted her.

It was a strange sight. America stopped and blinked in surprise, he couldn't… well, he didn't think  _anyone_  could say they've ever seen another Nation in such a situation. He couldn't help but frown. "This is weird..." He admitted to himself.

Taiwan was actually surrounded by people and was currently posing with one for a picture, nearly hugging them for the pose. Her smile was bright and the humans around her seemed excited. It was a very stunning scene, to say the least, and it stopped America in his tracks for a few seconds.

He wondered if his own people would react like  _this_. Happy and excited, maybe a little reverent. Such negative thoughts weren't usual for him, so maybe it was the alcohol. America looked down at it. It  _was_  a whole bottle...

He looked around as he leaned against the wall. He could see the more religious conservatives being reluctant to even accept his existence, he could see the college kids who knew his  _real_  history rejecting him, then the extremely untrusting people and the extremely close-minded seniors. He wondered what the atheists would think, too.

He had been so focused on putting his name out there before the conspiracy theories took over, that he forgot about what certain groups would think by default. He  _knew_  some of them just wouldn't accept him or even acknowledge his nature, but then again, he couldn't please everyone, could he?

Not even Taiwan could, right? Even if she was sweet and nice, there would still be people who didn't like or believe her, despite the scene in front of him. Yeah, he should be realistic about this… Damn alcohol. America cursed it as he took another swig, pushing these thoughts aside. No sign of China yet…

"What are you waiting for?" America jumped when the kid made his presence known again. He was beside him but America didn't feel like putting up smiles. Damn alcohol, he cursed again, then sighed. "Waiting for  _China_  to show up."

"China?"

"The Nation. His name is China."

"His name is ' _China'?!"_

America nearly let out a groan of annoyance. He's always had a  _limited_  patience with kids, and it seems he's just reached his threshold… He's even less patient when they're not his own people's kids. "Yes, his name's China." He repeated with a drawled tone.

"He… Are all of you guys named after your country?" He sounded confused and disbelieving.

America just felt a bit exasperated. " _No_ , it's the other way around." As far as he's concerned, he's always been called  _America_. He's not even sure where England got that name… He pushed himself off the wall, turning to the kid, barely masking his impatience and annoyance before any reply. "Shouldn't you be home?"

"Don't be an ass, man." The brat huffed.

America stopped himself from replying with a layered level of rudeness by finishing the final drops in the bottle in one swoop. He crossed his arms, wiggling the bottle and watching Taiwan again.

She was talking with her people, motioning with her arms lightly as if telling a story, and they were listening and occasionally asking questions and piping in with comments. There was a lot of laughing involved and America sighed. She must be really distracted to not even sense his presence after all this time.

Speaking of that… He felt a twinge. A certain someone approaching, America smirked. "Finally…" Waiting is such a drag.

People in front of Taiwan saw someone approach from behind as well, they stopped in mild curiosity, then blanched and took steps back, as if realizing who it was or as if a primal instinct told them to back away from a potential threat. Taiwan blinked, her smile dimming.

There he is, good ol' China... America tilted his head a little, focusing to sharpen his hearing, just in time to catch their conversation.

" _Just_ what _do you think you're doing, child…?"_ He heard a hiss in Mandarin. Taiwan jumped in fright and turned at breakneck speed, stepping away, but China grabbed her wrist.

" _China!"_ Taiwan squeaked in surprise, ineffectively trying to free herself.  _"_ _How-!"_

" _Your president says he's sorry."_

 _"Ooh... That little weasel..."_ Taiwan grumbled under her breath.

The kid next to him frowned. "That's China…? He doesn't look scary..."

America ignored this – humans didn't understand that looks are irrelevant when it comes to Nations – and held the bottle in both hands as he grinned. "We'll have a little chat, but I don't think people here will like this guy… so, do you think the Taiwanese would like to see him on the ground?"

The kid heard him, but remained silent as he watched his Nation in distress. He must be getting some really conflicting feelings out of it, children are so easily influenced by Nations.

" _You and your brother... You both need to stop with this childishness, this is beyond unreasonable."_ China continued loudly.

" _Unreasonable?! You're the unreasonable one! I can take care of myself and so can Hong Kong! Leave us be!"_ Her righteousness seemed to influence the humans around her and they agreed with her, although America was sure they didn't know how China and Taiwan's relationship actually worked. They just felt what Taiwan felt. Mobs of humans were also easy to control and steer around.

China narrowed his eyes at them, forcefully making them back away with his words alone, although he looked mostly tired.  _"This is between me and my daughter, humans should step back."_ He ordered with a strong authority.

Oh, the cameras and flashes were out. The kid seemed to be getting angry like everyone else. "Yeah, I think everyone would like if he stepped away from her." He mumbled.

America's grin widened, breaking the bottle and grinding the glass until it was dust. He wasn't about to leave it anywhere. "Well then, it's not like I can pass up the opportunity." He said no more as he walked towards the congregation of people, going around so the two wouldn't notice him.

" _This has nothing to do with what you want_ _or what they think. Whether you like it or not, you are still under my authority and that is the final word. You should know better-"_

" _No one stays under anyone's authority forever,_ _people leave their parent's home at some point_ _!"_

" _You are no human, their rules do not apply to you."_ China turned his head away, as if this argument wasn't worth his time. " _You will stay under my wing for as long as I want! If I have to subjugate you or your brother by force, then so be it."_

This made people gasp, and America's lips thinned at the threat. Bring in an army to put you down? It awfully close to home, it reminded him of  _England_  back when he was a colony.

It grinded his gears. They always think they can put you down...

The Taiwanese seemed to understand what this threat meant and America needed to de-escalate the situation quickly. Something with a good  _shock_   _value,_ to spur them away from a potential mob mentality and natural instinct of protectiveness for their Nation.

He was close enough for them to sense his presence, no doubt, but he just needed China away from her, then Taiwan would calm down and her people would follow. Just when China blinked, noticing someone close to him, he was already flung away by a fast and strong kick.

China gasped and flew a few feet back before he flipped himself and dug his fingers on the pavement to stop his momentum, leaving nail marks. He remained crouched and his other hand held a sharp knife as he glared.  _"Why am I not surprised…?"_ He hissed in Mandarin _,_ then switched to English _._  "Here to interfere, I assume?"

America only waved at Taiwan, whose eyes were wide and surprised, then continued grinning at China. "Not really, I kinda needed to talk to you." He really did, but he didn't need to say that this was a  _secondary_  reason…

"I do not believe you." China shook his head and stood up, and quick as light, threw the knife in his direction.

America had drawn his own weapon as soon as China stood up and with a marksmanship honeyed by centuries of experience, shot the gleaming metal out of the air with an earsplitting ' _schin_ ' sound right after the already deafening gunshot, much louder than normal.

This exchange and noise made everyone step back with defensiveness, naturally startled by the sight of weapons. A lot of people in the vicinity would be running away from the danger, so America guessed the area would be pretty desolate soon. Although, those close enough to witness this scene seemed more determined to stay close to Taiwan.

He wanted to finish this before any cops were called.

"C'mon, China-man, no need for violence." America continued, blowing the smoke off his gun's barrel for good measure.

Taiwan came behind him and pulled his forearm in a way that made China scowl. "Are you here to  _help_  me?" She frowned, understandably confused by his presence, although there was some  _hope_  there. "Are you finally on my side now?"

He figured she would ask, but now that he was on the spot, he wasn't sure what to say. He opened his mouth and froze for a split-second, eyes darting to China who was giving him the 'don't you dare' eye as he approached them.

He turned back to Taiwan and shrugged. "Sorry."

Her brows furrowed as she gaped in obvious indignation. "You were on my side when I visited you last year! You even helped me raise my flag at your capital!"

Oh, shit… They did go a bit crazy that day... And after all the wordplay he had to throw at China to convince him he had nothing to do with it... America raised a finger to explain that particular event, but China cut him off once he reached them.

"It  _was_  you! I should have know...!"

Taiwan stepped in front of him to face China. "That's because he supports my independence!"

"No, he does  _not!"_

"U-uh, we were kinda drunk, it doesn't count," America replied, sounding a bit panicky as he pushed both away from each other.

China shrugged his hand off and was tapping his foot now. He had another knife in his hand and  _where_  does he keep those things…? "We have a contract, remember?" He muttered dangerously.

"Yes, yes, I know that. Look, uh..." He turned to Taiwan and stopped himself from saying her name, but didn't use the name China picked for her, either. "I would help you if I  _could_ , but my hands are tied, you  _know_  that, right?" He told her with a hushed tone.

Taiwan threw her hands up in exasperation, sounding incredibly annoyed. "Yeah, yeah, politics, I get it." She walked away, grumbling under her breath, and went to her people who were watching the whole scene, most likely to calm them down and explain the situation, or maybe ruffle them even more, who knew?

This went to hell quickly… America forgot how volatile and emotional she got whenever her independence was mentioned.

He turned back to China, pulling him by the arm so they could turn away from the crowd. "Okay, what the hell are you  _thinking?"_ He kept his tone low so no one else would hear it.

China rolled his eyes, pulling himself off. "She was the one putting foolish ideas into her people's head all this time. Do you expect me to let it slide, just because there are eyes on us? And  _you,_  oh you..." China gave him a chilling glare. "You are the one giving  _her_  ideas, are you not? Trying to turn her against me?!"

"Are you kidding me? My leaders would grill me alive if I were...!" America snapped. "That flag thing was an accident, you can't blame me for what I did after five shots of scotch!" China only muttered a 'Yes, I can' in response, but America ignored him. "Besides, I knew you would be doing  _this_  in front of everyone, and I came here because of  _that._  You have no tact with humans."

"Ha!" China glared with a grin. "What do I need tact for? You want them to think we can be bullied or pushed around? Here I thought  _you_  would be the loudest and less mindful of what anyone thinks. You already ignore all international rules!"

America narrowed his eyes. "I just don't want to give anyone an excuse to hate  _us._  You don't know shit about how the media works, you can't just have a scandal like this...!"

"What  _scandal?"_  China raised an eyebrow.

"You just threatened to invade with a fucking army!" That was loud... He knew quite a few people must have heard.

He saw Taiwan huff and glare at them before steering her people away, and he saw the kid from before following her and stopping to talk. She seemed to immediately brighten up.

China scoffed and turned away. "Taipei knows I am not above it. And do not  _patronize_  me about invading with armies, America." He replied calmly, with no malice.

America couldn't repress the flinch. "Yeah, okay… Look, I just want to avoid the bad PR. I know you probably won't have to deal with it much, but we do, so stop acting so…"

"So Nation-like?" China tilted his head, almost like a bird.

 _"Yeah._  Germany said we should avoid fighting and steering humans around, or parading our authority before they start thinking we're manipulating people or something. Or before they think we're causing wars and shit."

"Hm. Don't we all manipulate them whenever there is the need?"

"No, no,  _n_ _o_. We do not." America waved his hand in a slight cutting motion as he repeated the words.

"Did you  _not_  start your war?"

America choked and stopped, struggling to put out the words to rebut this, but gave up and glared. "Okay, now you're just provoking me…" He mumbled, but continued. "Just cut it out with Ta-uh, with your daughter, alright?"

"Why yes, officer, sir." China mocked – not a good joke, in America's opinion – but then his expression turned sober. "She is still my family, America. I do no wish to see her unhappy, I hope you understand." China placed a hand on his shoulder, and America crossed his arms. "However, I cannot, and will not, let her go. She has always been rightfully mine, and I will not let  _you_ , or your western ideas, take her from me. Your father had once stolen a child from me, I certainly  _hope_  you will not follow his example." It was a threat, although it didn't really scare him.

America shrugged China's hand off, giving him a scathing glare. "You don't have to worry, I'm not like him."

China regarded him, unimpressed. "Are you not?"

America leaned closer, keeping his voice low. "Back  _off_ , China."

China took a small but telling step back. Sensing the danger, he wisely dropped the matter, but he scowled. "Just stay out of my family's business, America." With that, he walked away, in the opposite direction Taiwan had gone with her people.

America sighed. This could have gone better. Well, a lot of things he and his country did could have 'gone better'. Maybe he's just  _that_  good at ending up with an unpredictable situation that might or might not have been better if he'd just minded his own business. But he could never help himself, could he? America just honestly hated seeing other Nations fighting for no good reason.

But what's done is done.

He'd de-escalated the situation and he got China to back off. He's also sure Taiwan wouldn't be talking shit about him to her folks. He knew she understood why he couldn't publically side with her on this independence matter, she just needed to cool off. He understood her pain very intimately, and he knew she knew that. But because of his situation and position in the world, he couldn't say what he wanted to say.

Such is the life of a Nation… And such is  _his_  life.

America ruffled his hair and walked away. He needed to go home and listen to his politicians mouthing off at him for doing this, and he would have to do that in  _silence_.

As usual.

* * *

Taiwan took a deep breath as she propped her head with her hand, eyeing the drink she had bought.

She had settled in a bar with some of her people who still wished to talk to her. The youngest ones had to go home – Taiwan herself encouraged them to go, it was very late and they couldn't drink – so she bought everyone some drinks and was now listening to them rant a little.

Blow some steam, all around drinks and some food. Refreshing, because she wasn't the one ranting for once. Quite a few eyes turned towards Taiwan and the group she stuck with, as it was a big group, especially because she offered to pay, so why would they turn it down?

"I mean, what's up with him?"

"Kinda like I imagined him to be. Authoritarian and an asshole, too. Although, he's surprisingly  _short._  Has he always been like that, by the way?"

Taiwan couldn't help but snicker. "I don't know about when he was young, a-who-knows three, four thousand years ago? But with me, he's always been extra  _clingy._  I heard he was an even bigger asshole back in his youth, though."

"Is he seriously that old…?" A young woman asked from her seat. She had a relaxed smile, but Taiwan could sense some doubt.

"I think he's pushing five, actually, but he doesn't like to talk about his age, he's even afraid of finding  _white_   _hairs_." Taiwan chuckled. China's pointless worry over it was always a bit comical and silly, and everyone in the family could agree on it for once.

"What about that other guy? Is he American?"

"Why was he here, anyway…?"

Taiwan tilted her head. "Oh, yeah, America…" She rolled her eyes, hands fiddling. "I shouldn't be surprised, he knows an unpredictable amount of  _everything_  under the sun, so he probably knew China would be stopping by."

"The US, then? Is he your… friend?" Taiwan could hear the doubt and the hint of resentment, as they most likely knew how America's government ignored Taiwan's true name because  _China_  wanted them to.

She jumped to defend him with a mildly panicked tone, raising her hands. "Ah, don't be mad at him! It's just that their countries are trading partners and there's politics and…" Taiwan could feel her cheeks and ears warming up as she shrunk on her seat, now fiddling with her hair. "He's really nice, I mean…"

They all stared at her for a few seconds in bewilderment. "Kinda sounds like a crush…" One said.

"What does that mean…?" Another asked.

Taiwan hid her face, which made them laugh. "It's not a crush!" She's a grown up now, she doesn't do  _crushes._ "It's just… admiration, I guess." She admitted, if only so they wouldn't think she was, ah… too young and naive, or something.

"Admiration? For having a powerful country?"

An obvious assumption, but Taiwan relaxed as she realized it was simple to explain this. It wasn't like that. "Well, he was the first Nation born in a colony to fight back and  _win…_ and he was  _barely_  100 years old...! Then he went on to become one of the strongest and richest Nations in the world…! There aren't many from the colonial generation who don't admire him for it, even if he can be a bit of an ass these days… I know he understands what I'm going through, and he would help and side with me if he could, but I… I know he's just stuck with politics..." Or at least, that's what he told her.

She wanted to believe he cared on some level, but then again,  _Vietnam_  had once told her to watch his silver tongue. Always take his words with a grain of salt, she said… Taiwan felt somewhat inclined to believe someone who knew this from  _experience,_  although Taiwan often told herself that he has changed...

She could tell her words almost sounded like an excuse to her citizens, and maybe they doubted her because she doubted her own words as well. But she didn't want to doubt. She didn't get along with many Nations out there, honestly, not on this level.

There was America, Japan, maybe Korea, Vietnam, just a little, and… A thought hit her. "Ah, I forgot!"

"What is it?" They wondered as she scrambled around her pockets for her phone.

"I forgot to call Hong Kong…! I should warn him that China will probably be paying him a visit on the way back to Beijing… Probably to make sure he won't be trying anything funny, either."

This seemed to bring everyone's spirits back up. "Hong Kong has a Nation too?"

"My nephew lives there, I should ask him about it." Another replied with a grin.

"Yeah, my brother and best friend too, probably." She muttered with a smile as she typed his number. Calling would attain more attention than a simple text. "Come on, little brother…"

After a few seconds, she rolled her eyes. It seems she would be texting anyway, as no one picked up.

"Why don't you go see him? Maybe you can help each other against China…?"

Taiwan shook her head while typing an angry message to her idiot brother who couldn't bother to pick up the damn phone. "If China catches me on the mainland, he won't let me leave. I would rather no test my luck… It was hard enough to run away."

"Y-you ran away…?"

"Yeah, I used to live with China before, but I snuck out with the Nationalists fleeing the country when the Communists took over." She winked with a smile. Those guys… They wanted her to be the 'New China', she could barely believe she was in on it for a while, too...

Even today, she still thought running away was the best idea ever. However, back then, the Nationalists wanted to get rid of the current China, as he was sympathetic to the Communists. They wanted Taiwan to be the  _new_   _and only_   _China_. Ambitious, but for that, Taiwan would have to kill him. She didn't really know how, but that's how it would have to end. She knows China knew about this plan... Honestly, maybe it was no wonder China was always somewhat paranoid over their shared sea, never willing to compromise with her.

The Nationalists used to say he's actually scared of her...

As much as she hates him, she wasn't up for stabbing him like this. She grew up with the old Nation. She knows how  _truly_  scared he is of dying, and this just seemed like the most  _cruel_  thing to do. She was already hitting him where it hurts to make him let go, but she wasn't willing to go  _that_  far...

Taiwan sighed, having sent the text. Hopefully it would be enough, although she was curious. There was no way Hong Kong had left his phone alone to wander off, and there was no way he was asleep, so he must be up to something.

She just wished he had told her about it…

Either way, for now she would spend as much time as she could talking with her citizens. Even if China visited, Hong Kong would be fine in the end. He wasn't doing anything wild yet, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More context and information in the original News Feed entry on FF.net.


	17. Human Woes (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEADS UP! I've split this chapter in two - because I didn't like how I wrote the original chapter 18 (Unjust Mistakes). I feel like I didn't deal with the topic properly, and I felt like when I wrote it, I was really ignorant on the issue (according to my current knowledge). So this chapter is now two chapters to cover that one.

**Maryland (UTC -4) 12:42 p.m**

The aged wood creaked as he walked up the small set of stairs in front of the house. America stopped in front of the door, hesitating to ring the doorbell. After a few seconds, he backed away and turned around with a sigh.

Looking around him from the porch, where he saw a large front yard, he leaned over the wooden fence. It wasn't too close to the inner cities, pretty closed off behind gates, and it was pretty quiet.

The place belonged to him once. Well, he used to have a lot of houses all over the country, most of which he helped build, some more than a century ago, and therefore, were pretty old, but he had people who bought them and who could take care of these places.

That is, sold with a contract for a certain job America had in mind.

He visited from time to time, but recent events got him anxious of doing so this time. It's been a week, the news had passed through the internet and media, his boss already came forward about him on national television, other politicians were already pitching in…

He probably had no reason to be anxious.

He heard barking from inside, interrupting his moment of solace and thoughtfulness. His hand was unconsciously fiddling with the dogtags hanging around his neck. He wore it for comfort whenever he visited these places.

The barking continued, followed by scratches on the door.  _"For the love of- what is it, boy?!"_ He heard steps approaching. "Now what's-!" The door opened, and the speaker froze, shock hitting America's senses like a tidal wave.

America smiled as the German Shepherd ran out, whining for attention with its paws over the railing, and while he petted the loving animal eagerly, he responded without looking back. "Thought I would stop by, see how you guys are doing… Not a problem, is it?" He finally turned to face the door with a bright expression.

The middle-aged man continued to give him a shocked look. "A-Alfred..." He soon shook himself out of this stupor. "No, it's not, uh..."

"Great!" With a grin, America walked past the man, who was in his late 30's, and stopped in the middle of the spacious living room, the whole place was somewhat in order, with the signs of the people living there, portraits with photos, many books tucked away, electronics functioning properly, all furniture seemingly centralized around a TV, as usual in most homes.

Occasionally, he could see prescription med bottles in half-hidden corners.

The TV was tuned to CNN, muted, but the headlines still screamed about him and Washington _._  He had an…  _issue_  with them, only a few hours ago… America frowned but just ignored it for now.

Rocket, the dog, walked behind obediently, panting happily. America wanted to name it with a synonymous for 'freedom', but it seems he ran out of words for that. Other pets had all the other cool names already...

Looking around, America sighed. He hasn't visited this place in a while now… "Good to see the whole place is intact, it has 200 years, you know…?" He commented quietly – knowing the  _meaning_  of his words could be understood correctly from now on – and as he passed a low bookcase, he saw where another set of dogtags laid.

_Miller_

_Johnson J._

_132-xx-0010_

_O POS_

_Christian_

"So," America began, turning away quickly, sensing he was being watched closely. "how  _is_  everyone? Did Brian find a job? I haven't had the time to check or visit, especially with everything that's been going on recently…" He sighed as he surveyed the living room, if only if wouldn't have to look at the man.

Johnson continued to watch him, but nodded dazedly. "He did… a month ago."

"Oh, that's so great… I knew he would find something one day… Hopefully he'll be able to find a place of his own." America welcomed some good news, at least. It was always relieving to hear that these guys were doing okay, he thought to himself as he passed by the photos, some much  _older_  than others, of the many people who passed through this house. "What about Isaac? He's been here a while, I was hoping..."

"We know the rules, he'll move out soon…"

How curt. America sighed again, turning to face the man. "...Just because you know who I am now, doesn't mean I'm suddenly a different guy." America crossed his arms, not able to hide the slight hint of hurt in his expression.

He always went far and beyond for these people. He did everything possible so as many as he could live in these houses for as long as they needed, as long as they tried to find a job and acquire their own home. If they ran into  _any_  problems, they could fall back here, no problem. America always did his best to help whenever he was called, and was never harsh about these rules, he never asked anything other than some effort from them, no squatting or being lazy.

It's not like he ever had to enforce these. A roof over their heads was all most of them needed to put their lives back together. The food and socialization offered were a bonus.

America knew that Johnson understood this, which was probably where the slim sliver of guilt was coming from, but the man seemed very determined to get some answers, so he narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms as well. "You know my opinion of them 'government men'. How do I know you actually care about any of us…? That you weren't just  _lying_ , like they do?" Johnson leaned against the wall, finally relaxing a little, but waves of distrust still hit America like knives.

The dog whined, as if feeling his sudden distress. America let out a shallow laugh. "It's not like I'm  _buddies_  with them, they don't even listen to me… I can't help  _everyone,_  but I'm doing what I can." He shrugged lightly. He's still just  _one_  guy, and he's not naive enough to believe he can help every single citizen in need.

"They don't?" The distrust diminished and Johnson's light scowl lightened.

As much as it pains him, he had to choose a group to focus on. This group ended up being the one he's most...  _grateful_  to. The young, brave men and women who fought for his country. His government didn't seem nearly as worried as he was – even though they  _loved_  saying otherwise – so America had to step in and have his own unofficial safety net.

Unfortunately, the only ones he could  _afford_  to help, were those in most  _desperate_  need, risk of suicide, crippling PTSD, cancer... Most of everyone  _else_  would have to deal with inefficient care and arduous waiting lists... It's not the most efficient net, there are big cracks and people slipped through without him noticing, but with his resources, it was  _all_  he could do.

"They really don't…" America shook his head and continued. "And… well, I know you were fighting for the  _country,_  but… for  _me,_  it just feels a bit more personal… so of course I care… I say I care a lot more than anyone, in fact."

Rocket lowered its head, not making a sound as if respecting the amicable silence that followed. Animals have always been extra sensitive to America and his emotions, often reacting accordingly. Its ears twitched, right as America heard a faint sound upstairs. He blinked, looking up. He focused for a second on the presence. "Anthony's here?"

Johnson raised an eyebrow. "…You can tell?"

"Yeah. I thought he had moved out?"

"Yes, he was fired recently. It was  _not_  his fault." There was a hint of a warning in his tone.

America sighed again. "I'm not mad. I'm sure he can find something else…" At this point, America could tell that Johnson's Christian background was what was making this difficult for him. This new discovery, that a good friend wasn't  _human_ , that such a thing even existed, made him very uncomfortable, probably conflicting with his beliefs, with what he believed in his whole life.

He was  _trying_  to trust him, America could tell, but it seems he couldn't do it without questions. America understood that just fine… although, this only made things difficult to explain.

The noises upstairs continued, quickly followed by a thumping going down the stairs. America turned, hoping there would be no trouble. Although, Anthony Green has always been a very  _chill_  guy, often acted younger than he actually was. Also Christian, but part of the suburban churches in the inner city.

He probably came down to get some food, not expecting to see any visitors, but as soon as he caught sight of America, he did a double take and stopped. "Oh… son of a bitch…" A smile appeared. "Couldn't bother to tell us anything, could you? I saw you on TV, man!" He offered a hand in casual greeting, not a handshake, a more casual thing instead, which America took with a surprised grin.

"I would have if anyone noticed I haven't really aged in years." That he would. No matter what Congress said, he would never disappear on  _these_  guys.

"I was about to! J, look at this bastard!" Anthony grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him to face the older man, pointing at America. " _No_   _one_  looks this good for  _this_  long!" He moved to the couch and sat down heavily, Rocket immediately jumping over to sit beside him. "No wonder you knew all the tricks in the field, you had experience already-How old  _are_  you, anyway?"

It was hard to not feel that enthusiasm – even Rocket was now wiggling his tail and panting again – and America chuckled, feeling particularly proud with the happiness he could feel from this man when months ago it was the complete opposite. One of those signs he's doing something  _right_ again. "382 years-old this year."

"Ooh, did you meet George Washington, then?!"

"Sure did!"

Thankfully, Johnson seemed to be relaxing, but his thoughtful veneer still worried America a bit. He didn't know which conclusion the man would reach, and America hoped he wouldn't need to forcefully  _break_  through his convictions to convince him. "What exactly  _are_  you, anyway?" The man tilted his head, with a less hostile stance and a more curious look.

The last thing America wanted was to  _lie_  now. Things were delicate enough. "Uuh, I don't actually know…? At least not from a scientific perspective." He shrugged with his hands up. "We just sort of show up when humans settle around places, with a society, government and stuff."

"No parents?" Disbelief.

"Not the way you do. Or so they say, I don't really remember my first few years."

"How come no one ever knew about you…?" Suspicion.

"Dude…" Anthony cautioned tiredly.

"They  _did_. Well, mostly the  _Church_  knew, along with the royalty…" Maybe he needed some more accurate context…? "Long story short, before Christianity came around, Nations were sort of treated like gods, or pseudo-gods? But the Bible didn't put us on a pedestal, we're even referred to as 'it', so the Church tried to hide us and keep us obedient, or at least that's what I was told when I was little, I never actually dealt with them… This 'going into hiding' phase was  _way_  before my time." He explained quickly and grinned. "A lot of burned records and persecution involved, apparently."

That was just in Europe, though. America didn't really know what the others far South-East did.

England had been the one to explain it to him back then, and he had been very  _brief_ , if not somewhat curt and cold, as if he  _really_  didn't want to talk about it. It had taken America some time to understand that the European Church during the Middle Ages hadn't exactly been kind to its Nations  **–**  many of whom were  _children_  at that point  **–**  and much less to England himself…

Johnson's suspicion seemed to be crumbling. Good America was doing this right. "Never read about this before..."

"The name 'Nation', and its variations and translations, it's always been about us. It just lost the original meaning with time, and now it's basically synonymous with 'country'… The wordplay was more symbolic back then, so I guess we're just a different species or  _something_  with a connection of sorts with our territory and the people and stuff living on it. Probably that's where the  _Nation equals country_  thing came from." He finished thoughtfully, his hand cupping his chin.

He didn't want anyone to start thinking he's some kind of demon, a sign of the  _Judgement Day_  coming or some other nonsense – even though he felt that a minority would still think so, regardless of his arguments.

"C'mon, man," Anthony prodded a little more. "Alfred's nice. We  _know_  this guy is our friend."

Johnson kept his eyes narrowed for a few more seconds, before he exhaled. " _Alright_ , I'll bite, only because you've been helping us for so long. It's the least I can do." He relented with a light flair of relief.

"Yas!" America high-fived Anthony for the victory as Rocket barked happily. "Well, you talk it out, I'm gonna go get something to drink!" He quickly moved out of sight, Rocket immediately jumping over Anthony with no care for where its paws hit, making the man yelp in pain as it followed America into the kitchen.

He let out a sigh of relief. Why did he feel that he would have to repeat himself often from now on…? Maybe the Nations should write an open letter or something. He couldn't wait for these things to be common knowledge.

America opened the fridge, quickly fishing out a bottle of alcohol. He doesn't care what those old Europeans say, or even what Prussia says, he likes his beer, because it's his  **–** which is basically the only reason he had to give.

While taking a swig, he picked up a piece of bread that was left on a plate on the table, throwing it to Rocket. The dog easily caught it and munched on it. Rocket was finished in a second and then it looked up at him, expectantly. America scoffed. "There's nothing else. Go back to Anthony, maybe he'll have something."

Rocket's ears lowered as it whined, and after a soft wave from America, it walked back out. He smiled and closed his eyes, widened his senses just far enough to catch the whole house, easily hearing the conversation in the living room.

" _-gotta be this way, man?"_

" _I just didn't know what to think, okay? Why are you so calm about this, anyway?"_

" _If Alfred hadn't offered me this place to live until I found a job and had my own money, I would've been screwed, you know? Maybe even in jail, maybe dead, or just homeless if I was lucky. I'm not going to hold it against him just because he's 'different'."_

 _"Heh..._   _Not like the VA would have helped you, right…? Sorry… I guess he really is doing all he can. He did say politicians don't really listen to him,"_

" _Maybe if they did, we'd be better off. Alfred's a really cool guy_ … _You_  know _that."_

America blinked and sat on a chair, leaning over the table, somewhat caught off guard with the warm feeling of pride hitting him. He stopped to soak it in for a few seconds – did it feel  _purer_  than usual? – it left its warmth behind, cooling down slowly. America sighed happily and relaxed, stretching his arms over the table. "Oh… this  _is_  nice…"

Actual  _happiness_  and  _appreciation_  from his citizens were the best feelings in the world. Not even nationalism could compare, surprisingly…

America pushed this thought aside and focused on the rest of the house. As usual, it seemed like everyone was out on this particular afternoon, although America knew the whole place would be full by nighttime. Usually, they were either out looking for a job, visiting friends and family, at a hospital, in therapy, or in most cases, actually working to gather money, so they could rent or buy their own home.

It's not like Veteran Affairs would help all of them readily, with the crippling lack of funding... The waiting lists were painfully long and many couldn't afford to wait, many who he couldn't help had no homes, even… It was hard to watch, especially when he felt like this was his fault, his war did this to these good people. A war that, as it turns out, wasn't supposed to even last this long _..._

It wasn't even against the real culprit.

Inevitably, he felt like he would have to  _apologize_  for it, even though it wasn't his decision to start it. But he knew words were not enough. As his politicians proved over and over again, words with no action don't really mean anything. He was well on his way to  _work_  for forgiveness with his current crusade.

America grinned lightly. As long as someone cared, the risk of suicide would drop; as long as someone provided a  _roof,_  they would look for a job; as long as someone arranged steady support, they would continue to be good people.

It was what he could provide with the 1 million dollars given to him every year  **–** Congress refused to give him more  **–**  although, even then he was stretched thin and had to find  _more_ to cover unexpected costs along the year or just to pay the people who helped him keep this whole thing working  **–** nearly half of his paperwork came from this, after all  **–**  and mind you, they were mostly volunteers who already had part or full-time jobs, good people who America trusted, but still…

He didn't think it was fair to  _not_  pay them for selling them a  _job_  with the house.

Well, at least with this recent disaster, maybe he would  _finally_  get some extra money, maybe then he would be able to sleep more often rather than staying up 24/7 with odd jobs and bills until he ran out of energy nearly every month.

Which reminded him that he would need to sleep soon...

With a yawn, he pushed himself off his seat, going back to the living room, suddenly hearing the TV with a very familiar but annoying voice speaking, immediately ruining his mood.

It's a good thing the speaker wasn't actually present in the room, because Rocket could certainly tell how much he wanted to  _punch_  this particular individual, and it would certainly attack, judging by the growling.

"What is it, boy…?" Anthony asked worriedly to it, ruffling its head to calm the animal down.

" _-yes, he did threaten to kill us, everyone in the room,_ _and honestly, he could do it,_ _"_

America narrowed his eyes at the TV.

The Governor of New Jersey was now answering to a CNN reporter over the 'earful' America got from Congress once he was back from Taiwan's island. He was one of many who showed up in D.C. to yell at him along with  _everyone_   _else_ **–** why would they miss the chance anyway? Not only America rarely cooperated with them, but also constantly  _stared_  with the intent of influencing them to feel like shit whenever they did something he didn't like.

It never stopped them, but obviously, they often felt the need to have some payback time.

Normally, America would have just sat there and listened to them rant about how  _irresponsible_  he is, and how  _uncooperative_  he is, and how he was hurting the country and not doing anything  _useful_ … He's not allowed to  _talk back,_  after all. America quickly placed the bottle on the nearest surface, a small bookshelf behind him, so it wouldn't break under his grip as anger resurfaced.

Instead, he crossed his arms, if only to keep his hands locked.

Arguing with them always led him  _nowhere,_  but this time… some of them were particularly  _infuriating_  with their words, and something in his head just snapped. America has never verbally attacked them before. This was the first time.

No wonder they're all so mad…

America grimaced, his brows furrowing in annoyance. "Asshole…" He muttered, drawing the attention of Anthony and Johnson who were watching with wide eyes.

The Governor continued to lie his ass off on TV as Anthony turned slightly, frowning. "Did you… threaten to  _kill_  them?"

America rolled his eyes. "Not really."

" _I don't know how so many people here seem so comfortable with him around, considering how much of a threat_ _to our lives he could be, I feared for my life in this sessio_ _n-!"_

America scoffed. "But I guess he was too busy shitting himself to notice that it wasn't actually a 'threat'." When a Nation is genuinely pissed off, humans  _feel_  it very acutely. Immediate fear and dread strikes them.

This man, in particular,  _deserved_  it as well. Slimy, sleazy, openly-corrupt, old-school politician… America continued listing adjectives mentally for quite a few seconds.

Right as he watched, someone walked past the camera's view, stopping, seemingly listening to the conversation for a second, before walking closer.

" _Excuse me,"_ America sighed with a bit of relief. That one Senator from Kentucky who usually made sense, and was an actual normal,  _sane_  Washington politician for once. As with most of his politicians, he didn't  _always_  make sense, but he had his good moments.  _"Mr. Jones did not 'threaten' us,"_

" _Now, Senator-"_  The other tried to interrupt, but the man held up a finger.

 _"He might have been incredibly rude when expressing his_ … _dissatisfaction with many of us here in Washington, however, it should be noted that Mr. Jones being unhappy is just a sign that something is wrong with our country, and considering_ _the fact that we, as a government, don't often take heed to these signs_ … _well, I'm not very surprised this happened. But please, don't blame him when you_  know _his overall mood and opinion_ _simply reflects_ _the American population's mood and opinion. He dislikes_  you  _more_ _than the rest of us for a reason."_

America huffed. As usual, conservative politicians tended to see him as a 'compass', rather than an independent individual, but it's just how things have always been, in a way. He can't say it bothered him, honestly. "Well, I guess this is going to be trending online." He sighed and picked his drink again, then sitting on the back of the couch.

"You're  _already_  trending online. Everyone's talking about you and Nations in general." Anthony commented.

"What even happened, anyway? Why were you there?" Johnson turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

"Eeeh…" America shrugged apathetically. "They wanted to  _scold_  me over what happened last week."

"In Taiwan?"

"Yeeeah… I might have… been really rude to them…" With the blank stares he received, America continued sheepishly. "I kinda… called them a bunch of  _whores..."_  He was a lot more  _specific_  at the time.

"That's okay, man, we all call them that every once in a while…"

"…I also told them that I _could_ _n't_ _wait for them to die so I could dance on their graves_ …" He muttered quickly, flushing and fiddling with his jacket's sleeves.

"Uuh…"

" _And_  I nearly punched that guy there in the face…" No wonder he was so twitchy on TV.

"Jesus, Alfred, what the hell?"

"I know! I know… It was a mess!" America stood and paced around nervously. "I-I don't know what happened…! I've never been so _angry_  at my politicians like then, it's just-" He sighed, turning away from the TV and rubbing his temples. "It's like they're trying to  _kill_  me…"

America's thoughts stopped, shocked by his own sincerity on the matter. Why was he talking about this…?! His eyes widened when he felt the tendrils of concern and  _pity_  hitting him.

"…Are you-"

"Anyway!" America clapped and put up a smile, turning to the two men, waving these emotions aside as if they were pesky bugs. "That aside, now that everyone sort of knows about us, we kinda agreed that we should find people to, ah,  _vouch_  for us. Like, normal people, not  _politicians_." He gritted out the last word as if it were a slur.

This change of subject seemed to throw them off for a second, but Johnson recovered quickly. "I hope this is not a campaign trail of sorts…"

"Of course not!" America scoffed, grinning. "We just  _know_  there are going to be people who will straight out hate us, and there's nothing we can do about it!" He chirped. Tone down the cheerfulness, America told himself. He didn't want them to know the previous topic of conversation had bothered him.

"So you want us to put up a good word for you?"

"Yep! And convince the others too, when they get home."

Anthony shook his head, getting over the sudden shift. "Aren't you talking to them?"

"I actually have a lot of places to visit today, this is not the only house I sold to people who would let veterans live with them." He had 62 places sold… "There are also a few politicians I gotta talk to, and some other people…"

"Fishing for support, huh?"

"Hey, I can't just hole up in the White House and expect people to trust me." America shrugged helplessly.

"You're allowed in the  _White_   _House?!"_

"Man, that place is basically all  _mine_. It's my official home, I guess, and I waltz in there when I  _feel_  like it."

Although he said he had other places to be, America knew from the start that avoiding a conversation would be impossible. Whenever he visited the other houses, he probably would find himself in the same situation, so this whole thing would probably take a while…

He understood how Taiwan felt now. It was usually weird to talk to humans who weren't part of that selective group of people, the  _elite_  whom they often interacted with. Now that there was no secret, it was even weirder. It was strangely refreshing, somewhat calming, yet a bit exciting somehow. It was… relieving.

Maybe the secrecy had a weight, and he just never really noticed it.

So he continued to talk.

Talking to people with no strings attached seemed like a strange concept, no political connection, no long history and past grudges or issues. Nations don't really approach other Nations just to be friends… or at least, America has never seen it happen, or even done it himself. There's always something involved, a deal for resources, a strategic position, money and business… just  _something._

Humans don't strictly  _need_  that. It's not part of their social code. They  _can_ just approach to be friends, to have someone to talk to. If you remove any obstacles, they're  _free_  to do literally whatever they want. America has envied that for a long time… They can leave the country and ignore society, they can marry and love whoever, they can go to the  _moon._

It's not like America would ever be allowed to leave the planet. They don't even know how far they can go before the connection breaks, if it would break at all. Maybe  _mortality_  is the price for true freedom.

Death and freedom, a tightly woven pack America wasn't sure he would ever be able to take, even if the chance somehow presented itself to him.

"Hey,"

America blinked at the sound of fingers snapping in front of his face. "Yeah?"

"You zonked out, man." Anthony said.  _Worry._

America quickly put up a face, grinning. "Oh. Right… I haven't slept in weeks! I'm gonna rest when I get home."

_"Weeks?"_

"I don't need to sleep every day like you." America waved them off, ignoring the  _concern_.

Both Anthony and Johnson narrowed their eyes, exchanging looks. Anthony was the first to speak. "Me thinks you have issues to deal with." He grinned.

"Issues?" America blinked.

"Hearing you complain about the government and politicians when we know your secret makes a  _lot_  more sense now." 'Now we're worried' was the message underneath.

America rolled his eyes. "It's fine, I complain for the same reasons everyone does."

"Mnn, I don't believe you." Anthony stood up and walked around the couch, pulling him along by the arm. "How about we go outside, get some fresh air?"

His eyes widened slightly, nearly betraying him and showing his mild panic. "Ah, no, no, no, I'm fine, really!" America forced a chuckle and pulled back, easily mind you. He didn't need much effort to counter a human, one who wasn't even that big to begin with.

Johnson decided to pipe in, seemingly amused by this as he stood beside Anthony. "Come on, Dr. Hilda told me talking is 'essential'."

America widened his posture, planting himself on the spot. "I don't have any PTSD."

"Not my point. Just go, because he won't give up."

"No, I'm  _fine._ " America repeated.

"Prove it, then!" Anthony grinned as if he'd given America a checkmate.

He exhaled tiredly and stared back with a deadpan, basically standing still as this grown man tried in vain to move him. Soon enough, Rocket joined the party by pulling the bottom of his pants. "Not you too!"

Johnson had joined Anthony in pulling his arm, probably out of pity for his fellow man, but his eyes widened when noticing America wasn't moving an inch. "Goddamnit, you're heavy…!"

America frowned. "Not  _heavy._  A monster-truck can't beat me and neither can you." To prove his point, he took a step back, easily pulling the two men along as if they were made out of cloth.

"Oh, c'mon! A superpower?!" Anthony gasped, then continued to pull his arm rather dramatically. "This… is…  _so_  not fair… to the rest… of humanity!"

Johnson had apparently given up, and was massaging his shoulder. The poor man was starting to feel his age now. America sighed loudly. "Okay,  _fine_." He drawled, although he was amused. "You can be my  _shrink_  today." Only then, Rocket stopped and barked.  _'Traitor.'_ It wouldn't be coming with them, that's for sure.

Anthony stopped and grinned, fist up into the air. "Yes! I read a  _book_  and now I can test my skills! C'mon, we'll buy some coffee down the street!"

Johnson nodded, following. "Well, I want som' whiskey."

America blinked. "Wait, you read  _one_  book?!"

* * *

"I really don't know why you're making such a fuss about this." America commented, raising the cup of Starbucks coffee to take a long swig.

He felt both constricted and flattered at the attention he was getting – now he knew how celebrities felt – but he put up a neutral, slightly smug look as usual. Being outdoors in his own homeland where he can be easily seen for the first time since the whole secret was blown to bits was even weirder than he expected.

It didn't help that so many people were staring from their seats in the outdoor tables outside the shop.

"C'mon, man. After everything you've done for us, it's only fair we pay back and try to help you." Anthony retorted easily before grinning. "I'm also curious. This is not a chance you get every day, you know? So, uh, let's start with your childhood."

"Really?" America drawled. "Freud? You're reading  _Freud?"_

"Heh, can you read mind as well?" Johnson asked with a flair of amusement. He was more agreeable and calm now that he had some whiskey. He probably ordered it because he felt like he would  _need_  it.

"Man, this is some X-Men-shit right here." Anthony commented.

"Oh, I  _wish._  Every psychology newbie who starts with Freud asks about childhood, it's freaking obvious, man." He snickered lightly, shaking his head. "You're a shitty shrink."

"He's right. You read  _half_  of that book." Johnson shrugged at Anthony.

"Half enough to understand." The man raised a finger, other hand stroking his non-existent beard. "Is it because it's a sob-story?"

America scoffed. " _Every_  Nation's got a sob-story, even  _Sealand's_ got a sob-story, and he's a  _child."_

"Isn't that a micro-Ooh, I get it now..."

"Yup. Tiniest guy in the family." America shook his head with mirth. "Besides, we're all over past those wars by now. Nothing to whine about."

"Really?  _Nothing_ at all? That sounds even more unbelievable somehow… What about, uh,  _Russia?"_

"Russia doesn't count." America waved it off quickly, with a slightly forceful tone. "The only guy I know with grudges is dad when he gets drunk and starts bitching about Lafayette and Georgie, or asking whether he's protestant or catholic, or whining about some chick named  _Bes_ s-Just who the hell is 'Bess'?!"

"Some ex-girlfriend?"

America nearly choked on his coffee as he laughed. "No way, he's such a sticker for the PC bullshit, he's the last guy you'd ever see sleeping with a human." He scoffed derisively. Well, England is a sticker for the Nations' political correctness, at least. It has always sort of been considered wrong to get intimate with humans – nevermind that  _France_  often broke this rule with no care in the world, so  _liberal_  – and England has always hammered that idea into his head, when he was still  _around,_  of course.

So, obviously, America just felt really guilty and hesitant when he met a human who he…  _liked_  a lot more than any other. It lasted for a few years until England convinced him to step away, as painful as it was back then. This brought forth some memories America would rather forget – it's just been a few decades, after all, it's still  _fresh_  in his mind.

He shook his head. England had the moral ground back then, so…

"A little far-fetched," Johnson interrupted with a thoughtful look. "but 'Bess' was a nickname given to Elizabeth the First, queen of England in the 1500's…"

America raised an eyebrow. "Really? Huh, he did say she was a great queen, well, I never really liked the idea of royalty, anyway."

"The funny thing is a famous quote of hers…" Johnson seemed to hesitate for a second. "That she was 'married to England', or something. Was… Was she married to…?"

America stared for a few solid seconds, then shook his head quickly with a hesitant grin. "No, there's… no way." His mind slowed down suddenly. England had convinced him to leave  _her,_  he had the moral ground! But… he had done this before? Then had the guts to lecture him about it?!

If only he hadn't listened…

His shoulders fell and he stared at nothing for a few seconds. Had he known… As the realization hit him, anger took over and he finally snapped. "That son of a  _bitch!"_  He stood from his seat suddenly, startling whoever was too close. "…Goddamn hypocrite! You know what, I gotta make a call real quick, be right back!"

With his phone in hand he walked away, muttering curses rather loudly.

All who were present stared after him, until Anthony broke the silence. "You still think there are no grudges?"

Johnson turned to him with a deadpan, then sighed when seeing the somewhat disperse yet obvious eavesdroppers around them. Well, there's another hot topic online.

So much drama.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More context and information in the original News Feed entry on FF.net.


	18. Human Woes (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second half of the now split chapter 17. This used to be chapter 18 (Unjust Mistakes).

**Melbourne (UTC +10) 3** **:14 a.m**

England sighed in annoyance as he trudged along the sidewalk, looking left and right at each street sign and number he passed by. He muttered curses under his breath as he walked. Australia be damned for making him walk around in search of his bloody hide at this ungodly hour.

After England's jet landed,  _hours ago,_ he couldn't find him in his house, so he'd waited there, with his  _pets_ – why couldn't he have normal pets, like everyone else? – until  _midnight._

However, he wasn't known for his patience, and had to call the boy's Prime Minister – whom Australia often complains about, rather incessantly – only to find out the bloody brat had decided to take an early 'No-Government Day', his personal time-off from politics.

A 'day' that often meant a whole  _week_  to distance himself from his politicians and politics in general, to explore the most  _abominable_  areas of his land and to play with the most  _heinous_  creatures he could find.

England shook his head lightly, frowning. It seemed like the boy still regressed back to the uncouth little brat he'd found centuries ago from time to time. Hiking around the mud and prancing around with strange animals and insects? That's not how he raised him, but then again, how often did they turn out like he wanted them to?

Anyhow, since his Prime Minister seemed incapable of giving him a decent answer, England was forced to call whoever else he could find on his phone to ask for his whereabouts. As it turns out, Australia had holed up in a sports bar for the night, deciding to spend No-Government Day around humans. Maybe he wanted to test the waters before jumping in, using the late hours of the night to avoid any possible crowds.

But then again, England didn't take him for the cautious type.

No one could tell which bar he went to, so he was forced to look for him the hard way. Needless to say, England was in a  _bad mood._

It took him another three hours to finally find a  _L_ _ine,_  the natural energy-trail a Nation traces as they walk, and from there, England followed the faint energy only he – and a few others – could sense, until he reached the establishment he was looking for, with the familiar presence inside for further evidence.

It was fairly active, with music and lights, and England pitied the poor sods who lived nearby. Well, maybe there was no living quarters around if Australia kept this in mind when helping with city planning, if he helped at all…

With a long drawled sigh, he walked in, easily noting how out of place he was in his suit. He saw the bartender, and with a grimace, decided  _not_  to order any alcohol, even though it would be a blessing to have a drink at that moment. He got himself some water instead, and moved further in until he found his runaway brat. He sat down in plain sight, keeping his back straight and his legs crossed to maintain an elegant image.

Australia had the biggest grin, and like all his new human friends, had slightly red cheeks – he never had a problem with having a drink with random citizens from time to time – and seemed to be having a whale of a time. "Nah, mate, you're right, they  _are_  a bunch of cunts! Well, some are nice cunts, but still a bunch of cunts-Especially my boss, he's a fucking-!"

Oh, they were  _slandering_  politicians… England rolled his eyes. "Have a little more class when talking about your boss, boy. I certainly didn't teach you  _that."_ There are certainly better ways to deal with them, instead of childishly jeering at them with whoever agrees.

As soon as he heard his voice, Australia jumped like a startled animal, back hitting the counter, with his elbows easily knocking the bottle behind him, his sudden movement had the drink in his hand spilled all over the ground. "Dad! Hi, uh, hi! What-" He tried maintaining his composure, awkwardly attempting to straighten his posture. "W-What uh, what are you doing here?" He gave him a hesitant smile, eyes darting back and forth between England and the surprised humans around them. The music was still going, and the attention on them was minimalized, thankfully. Australia frowned when his eyes landed on the drink England was holding. "Is that…?"

"It's water." England hissed as he narrowed his eyes, before relaxing again. "I've waited in your house for two hours, and I've been searching for you for  _three_  hours. My question is, why are  _you_  here, at a time like this…?"

"I'm uh…" Australia shrugged with a wince. "Just hanging out…?"

"Mocking your own leaders, yes?"

"Come on, everybody does it…"

"Your brothers don't."

Australia visibly flinched. "Okay,  _mate,_  if you're gonna start comparing us-"

"Watch your tone, brat."

While this happened, Australia's citizens listened and looked back and forth between them, as if following a tennis match, while they grew naturally defensive of Australia in his 'moment of need'. One with angry knitted brows opened his mouth, glaring at England, while England himself wasted no time, raising his hand to stop him from speaking. "Stay out of this, you lot."

"Now who do you think you are, you stupid cunt?!" Another piped in immediately, making all of them stand as if ready to brawl.

England scowled with the vulgar insult, harshly placing his cup down. "Why don't you guess, you transient swine!"

 _"What_  did you call me?!"

Australia's eyes widened with outrage. "What the  _fuck,_  dad…!"

England sighed and stood. He might be shorter than most, if not all of them, but they didn't scare him. He's fought worse, and in greater numbers. "I am not in the mood for this, so we're leaving right-!" He stopped suddenly, as a sudden sound hit his ears. Ignoring the angry stares altogether, England fished his phone from his suit, frowning.

America was calling him…? He turned to Australia, pointing. "You stay right  _there."_ He commanded firmly and walked away, closer to the empty back of the room, then sighed and answered.  _"What_  is it?" He asked curtly, looking back at the group of, what… 10, 12 people? No, he did not want to do a headcount now. They were all  _glaring_  anyway. England nearly scoffed.

" _Heeey, Iggy! Uh_ _, what's that music in the back_ … _?"_

"I was looking for Australia, now we're in a bar." England droned back.

_"Oh, say 'hi' to him for me."_

"What do you want, America?"

 _"Oh, not much. I just needed to talk to you for a sec."_  He sounded strangely cheery and 'sweet', in that particular way that  _creeped_  him out. America only does that when he's  _mad_  about something, but England didn't have time for  _that_. A quick look back and he saw Australia trying to appease his angry citizens.

He didn't have the patience for it, so he pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly. "I'm occupied with something  _else_  right now, lad, be quick."

There was a sound that seemed to be both a laugh and a scoff.  _"Okay,_  then." His response was suddenly hostile. _"Remember that girl you met with me, back in_ _1920? That one who was my flight student_ … _?"_

England frowned in confusion. What…?

* * *

Australia narrowed his eyes as he gave England the eye, pushing his citizen away and calmly stopping him from storming after England. Others seemed to follow his lead easily.

"That blimey fucking-What the bloody hell did he even call me?!"

Australia sat back down on a table, motioning for everyone to do the same. "Transient." He nearly spat the word. "It's an insult. It means…" He hesitated before sighing. "It means short-lived,  _insignificant."_ His citizens seemed to feel appropriately offended. England always had different standards for humans. His own people had special treatment, of course. Americans also got some degree of decorum. Everyone  _else_ … they might as well be monkeys to him. "Don't mind him, he's always been a real bastard."

He looked back at England, noticing how his posture changed. Australia blinked, suddenly feeling cautious. Then, he felt it…

* * *

"Wh-Just  _why_  have you called me to discuss  _this?_ "

" _Remember you_  somehow _convinced me to stop seeing her?_ _That I shouldn't be getting intimate with humans and all that stuff?"_

Yes…? With a little bit of rummaging around his memories, he did remember the lass. He did remember a situation that would  _not_  end well, where he thought it would be better if he  _intervened._  But still… England rubbed his temple, head shaking. "Whatever nonsense reminded you of this-"

" _F_ _unny you should mention_  that…" The resounding chuckle sent chills down his spine.  _"because a little bird told me that a certain_  someone _was doing the_ exact _same thing in the past, and then had the_  guts _to tell me it wasn't morally right,_ _that everyone would be better off_ _, and somehow found a way to convince me of that, probably because a certain someone was using some hocus-pocus shit!"_

England's eyes were gradually widening in pure disbelief at what he was hearing. "Just  _what_ … in the blazes are you talking about?!"

" _You! I'm talking about you, hypocrite asshole!_ _Weren't you getting_  cozy _with a human, too?! Then you came to me on your high horse as if-!"_

"What?! Where-!" England interrupted, nearly choking on air. "I-I-I-No, where did  _you_  hear that…?!" He was talking about…  _Elizabeth?!_  He knows that with an online research, you can find some damning evidence, but Nations just  _don't_  meander around the internet for another Nation's past, it's just… awful and stalker-ish! How-Oh, someone  _must_  have told him… and maybe he should have seen this coming…!

The 'married to my Nation' comment was particularly difficult to miss… England should have gone to greater lengths to hide that. He also couldn't stop other Nations, such as France and Spain, from flinging all sorts of accusations his way.

He always told little America that they were overreacting and lying whenever he heard it.

" _You say some crazy shit when you get drunk, but now_ this _makes a_  whole _lot of sense…! Sleeping with your own queen, that's just golden right there-You know, I wonder if all the stuff everyone says you did in the past were actually true,_ _the pillaging and killing for_  fun _and all. Have you ever raped an underage girl? Or maybe killed a kid in cold blood?"_

England felt a stab hit the core of his being, while the world seemed to stop and turn silent around him. His eyes widened. "N-Now listen here-"

" _No, no, I don't need to hear it, just consider this an early 'Treason Day' present. As usual, you sir, are a horrible father!"_

* * *

He felt it in the air, like an electric buzz nuzzling uncomfortably on his skin. He could hear the white-noise. He  _knew_  this sensation.

Australia grew up with England, spent a good chunk of his childhood living with him in London, away from home. Australia knew… that the only one who could make England react like this… was  _America_. They were having another argument, another issue, another fight. Things just  _broke_  after their fights, almost like a walking bad-luck magnet that hit everything but England himself.

America is nearly always the reason behind these episodes, especially when Australia lived with him, and he easily recognized the signs. "Shit…" He started, slowly leaving his seat, as if sudden movements would attract a predator's attention. "Shit, shit, shit… I gotta get out of here…"

"What? Why?" One of the humans who he made friends with that night asked, bottle down as he glanced worriedly at Australia. The other few who were talking amongst themselves fell silent, and those glaring at England turned back at him.

"He's definitely talking with my brother, they're  _definitely_  having an argument, and I always got the worse of it afterward. I-"

"What do you mean 'worst of it'?" Another asked with wide eyes.

Maybe he shouldn't have worded it like that. "Err… He wasn't a really nice guy while he was raising me, and he's not a very nice drunk, either-"

"Wait, wait, wait! D-Did he  _hit_  you when you were a  _kid_ … _?!"_

Oh, boy... Australia knew this was bad, and immediately tried to deny it, but the words were stuck. "Uhm… Well…" The damage was done, he could see the immediate  _outrage,_ and for some reason, he couldn't find in himself the will to stop it when a bottle was grabbed, with a malicious intent hanging in the air.

Maybe he secretly wished he had the courage to do this himself… There was a reason the British Empire was so  _disliked_  all over the globe… Either way, that bottle flew and he didn't bother to stop it.

* * *

The line went dead and England stared ahead for several seconds, as conflicting emotions ran like a hurricane through his mind fighting for control, too fast for him to even react properly.

What was that  _bastard_  talking about?! Was he blaming  _him?!_ Just… why?!

"That… little…" Anger was slowly boiling, he could feel it immediately tapping into his natural energies, a warm buzz circling around his body like an electrical current, quickly and erratically building up, not like when he had his empire, when he could easily control it, no, this was more… emotional.  _Unstable._

He needed to calm down. It would be bad if things started to break… Australia wouldn't be happy…

His grip was about to bend the device, and his energy was cracking the glass of the window in front of him. Just as he struggled to keep his focus, something suddenly hit the back of his head. A long, spidery crack crossed the windows, and the lights flickered for a few seconds, the room seemed to grow even more silent than before, becoming deathly quiet as even the stereo suffered short-cut.

The bartender took his glasses off, staring in disbelief at its cracked lens.

England exhaled tiredly, the energy produced by his wild emotions – no matter how he kept himself in check on the exterior – was naturally creating heat, he could see the faint hint of steam as he exhaled heavily.

A hand rose for a quick check of the back of his head, and he could see blood. "Bloody savages…" He hissed to himself, before abruptly turning and striding towards Australia, who backed away, much like he always did in the past.

Fear of  _punishment._

England would  _not_  do that in front of these transient little bastards, so he merely grabbed the boy by the arm. His last bit of focus was hanging by a thread at this point, he needed to leave-

Someone held the boy back, pulling him out of hands and getting in his way, ready for a fight. "…Now where do you think you're going?" Protectiveness was expected, of course…

Oh, to hell with it.  _"Out_  of my way."England gritted his teeth.

 _Crack._  Bottles and windows of buildings, as well as the ones from the parked cars outside shattered, sleeping animals woke up and frenzied before running away, the loud cacophony of alarms, shouts, barking, and brief screeching tires in the back somewhere permeated the air immediately right as most of the lights cut out with loud 'pops', drawing out the suffocating silence of everyone who backed away. Australia immediately backed away as well, as if expecting an attack.

"Crikey…! Just  _stop_  and we'll go, okay?! Just… calm down…!" He approached cautiously while England massaged his forehead as a headache struck him. He continued walking, Australia right beside him, his hands close to his shoulders as if trying to usher him forward but not really having the courage to touch him.

England heard him turning and saying 'So sorry…!' to his shell-shocked citizens.

They remained in complete silence as they walked in the dark, passing several roads until the street was completely deserted and quiet, back into the unaffected area where the lights were still intact, with only the occasional car or shady pedestrian passing by.

"Did… something happen?" Australia asked cautiously, slowing down to have some extra distance between them, as if he were being precautious.

"No." England stopped as they reached a parking lot, where he'd left the car. He had walked in many circles while he searched for the brat… He frowned to himself. "How about you Hop back to your house? I feel like I need some time with my own thoughts."

Australia remained quiet for a second, nervously shuffling on the spot, before taking a deep breath and approaching. "I don't want you driving like this, you might get someone hurt." He stressed the last word and after a second, England glanced at him tiredly, then sighed, tossing him the keys.

"Fine. Just don't  _talk."_

* * *

Just as he expected, it was an awkward drive. Australia couldn't keep still, so he resorted to tiny movements like tapping the steering-wheel or adjusting himself on his seat every now and then, briefly glancing at the man beside him every few seconds.

Awkward indeed…

It's been quite a while since he'd last dealt with these kinds of occurrences. These kinds of  _episodes._  Canada has always blamed America for these, if only because, according to him, England became unbearable – intolerant, cruel, demeaning – after losing that…  _bastard._

Australia thought it was justifiable to be bitter about it, he did suffer the  _consequences_  after all. Those were often painful times. Back then, it was easier to blame someone he didn't know yet, rather than his own father, and he guessed the habit stuck. Although, he liked to think he's a grown up now, and grown Nations put the needs of their countries  _before_  any personal grudges.

He's been a grown up since the Anzac landing, exactly 100 years before… He was one of the 'big guys'… With that in mind, it was easy to suck it up and pretend things were okay between America and him.

Although, unfortunately, England still made him feel like a child again.

"Your brother…" England interrupted his thoughts, his tone tired as he rubbed his eyes. "can be an insufferable  _twat_  sometimes…"

Should he say anything back? He did say 'Don't talk', it was a  _command_ , and it was difficult to break a habit he was forced to abide when he was young. Obeying England's commands, that it.

Conflicted, Australia felt that staying quiet was the safest option.

"It's like he purposely ignores everything but his own perspective… I do wonder when did he become like this…"

'Where did I go wrong' was the actual question.

"…And now he's harassing me for things I did 500 years ago, he doesn't even know what  _happened_ … _!"_  He gestured around in anger just as Australia slowed down, just for safety.

It sounded like an electric buzz hitting his ears again, but this time, it was faint and died down slowly.

England leaned back on the seat, exhaling heavily and relaxing. "I knew how  _that_  would end, I merely saved him the anguish. How was I supposed to know-Or better yet, how is it  _my_   _fault_  that she went and got herself killed?! And it wasn't even  _his_  fault, he has  _no_  reason to scapegoat! His reasoning makes no sense!"

Australia frowned in confusion. What is he talking about…?  _Don't ask,_  he told himself and sighed. Just let him ramble.

England would continue mumbling angrily, slowly getting quieter as the buzz diminished to a nearly non-existent tickle. He would soon inevitably fall asleep, his energy spent, like after a coffee-high, and later, he would most likely find himself some  _alcohol_. Australia frowned, his lips pursing. England could be several types of drunk, it depended on how many shots he had.

One or two, and he would become whiny and complain a lot. About America in particular, but there were other topics. A few more, and he would start to get depressed and sour, and would also, possibly, start to throw the bottles at whoever bothered him.

If he had some more… he would start to get  _violent._

His grip on the steering-wheel tightened as he narrowed his eyes, not sure how he should feel about the current situation. But he knew one thing for sure.

His media would  _love_  this…

* * *

**Maryland (UTC -4) 1:36 p.m**

"As usual, you sir, are a horrible father!"

In a quick visceral second of rage, the device went straight to the ground, being destroyed beyond repair thanks to his strength. America huffed and paced around in circles for a moment before sighing, shoulders hunching tiredly. He turned back and bent down to pick up the remains. " _T_ _his_ … is why you can't have nice things…" He muttered as it fell apart even more in his hand.

No way to salvage it, he noted. It was bent and broken and the mark it left on the ground was no joke. Even its electronic components were one big  _goner._

America rolled his eyes and sat on the ground, ignoring the slight smell of the alleyway he'd tucked himself in to make this call, ruffling his hair messily and glaring at the charred remains of the Starbucks cup he'd burned while talking on the phone. Habit, of course, with a lighter he usually kept for specifically this sort of situations. He couldn't just leave DNA residue lying around, and it felt good to burn something when he was angry.

Still, it's been a while since the last time he's been so pissed off at England, but this was warranted.

This  _had_  to be his fault.

It was difficult to put into words what he was feeling, he reflected. Back then, decades ago, even before The Great War, it was such a conflicting time in his life. It was so difficult to decide what to do, how to act, what to accept from his citizens. However, one thing was certain in his life. He wasn't supposed to ever get involved with a human, not like  _that._  It's what he's  _always_  been told.

His politicians hammered away at that idea vehemently.  _So did many of his people._

In their eyes, America was supposed to be… free of  _sin_. Pure in every way. Whenever he deviated from that righteous path, he was supposedly  _dooming_  his country.

Superstition concerning Nations was very common in the past, no matter where you went.

He faintly felt a familiar presence approaching the alleyway. America waited as he watched, rather bored, as a rat crawled out of its hidey-hole, looked at him, tilted its head, and then ran off. Another sigh. Well, he  _has_  been gone for a little while. Maybe they were worried?

America leaned forward, picking every single piece of the ruined phone off the ground cautiously before leaning back against the wall again. He couldn't leave pieces of government tech laying around, even if it was ruined.

The sound of military-handed boots hitting the ground reached his ears and America smiled innocently, looking up. "Did I take too long, J?"

The older-looking man gave him a weird look, like he couldn't quite figure him out, before crossing his arms, raising an eyebrow at the burned cup before shaking his head and turning to him. "No. Although I'm surprised to find you laying here, like you're pitying yourself over something. You're... acting weird."

America turned away with a forced grin, shrugging. "Nah, it's nothing, I'm fine..."

Johnson scoffed out loud, untangling his arms and sitting beside him with some minor effort. "You act like a kid sometimes, doesn't make a damn lick of sense now that I know your actual age."

"Hey, I'm actually pretty young, you know?" He pointed out. He's not even 4-centuries old yet.  _"Dad's_  the old one, hitting what, 16 centuries now…?" America waved the left-over pieces of tech in his hand – warranting a somewhat incredulous look from his company – before tucking them inside the pockets of his jacket. "The high and mighty asshole…"

"British?" Jonhson guessed with a raised eyebrow.

"The British-est Brit to ever  _British_." America mocked. "Tea-drinking Queen's pet…" In more ways than one, America thought scathingly.

"Heh, here I thought we had moved on from the Independence War…"

"I did, I totally did, trust me." America reassured easily, sighing to himself. "It's not about that…"

"Ah, the 'marrying queen' thing then? If you don't mind me asking… why does it bother you so much…?"

America sat quietly for a few seconds, his posture tensing as he stared ahead. "… Back in the 1900's, not many women could learn how to fly a plane, you know? The first to do that had done so only in 1911. It was…  _weird_ , but hey, if they really wanted to fly, why not let them…?" America muttered the last few words, shrugging.

That was during the Women's Suffrage movement… They were pretty determined, that, America could tell. It was familiar, like a fight for recognition, in a way.

And in  _1913,_  he remembers being part of an aviation event, as a pilot. He was painstakingly ignoring the growing tensions in Europe just before  _The_   _Great_   _War_  broke out – he said he didn't want to get too involved, but could give England and his allies money, if needed, and wasn't that  _enough?_  – and was offering to let visitors hop into his plane and fly around for free.

Young Amelia was one of those people.

"So… I met this girl who wanted to  _learn_ _how to fly above the_  clouds, or so she said." He chuckled. "We kinda… hit it off…" At first, way up in the sky, America had nearly missed the feeling of absolute wonder and freedom that hit him back then.

For more than a minute, he didn't notice that those weren't  _his_  feelings, they were hers.

"I… don't see what the problem is…"

America laughed coolly. "If I were human, it really  _wouldn't_  have been a problem. But to my politicians back then," He grimaced. "I was supposed to live by the book. The virtues of America were the work ethic, and… holy  _abstinence_  of 'human sin', alcohol, sex, drugs, all that stuff… which was kinda ridiculous, honestly, because I still could go to war and  _kill_  people, but everything else? Off the table, apparently…" He explained humorlessly.

America was always seen as  _something_  that needed to be protected, safeguarded, and strangely enough, he kind of agreed with them, that he was supposed to stay away from these things at all costs back then.

He got the feeling of confusion and a hint of  _pity_  from Johnson, as if he were looking at a particularly troubled person, much to America's chagrin, but it soon morphed into understanding. "…That's puritanism?"

The word itself got on his nerves. America threw his hands up. "Exactly! You know, J, when you lock yourself into a cage like this for so long, the  _first_  chance you get, you  _run_ , you just… run for freedom…!" He clenched his fists as a gleeful grin stretched across his face.

All the feelings of inadequacy, hypocrisy,  _sinfulness,_  were successfully pushed into the back of his mind after months of being around that girl. Being with her was like being  _free_ , out of what felt like a suffocating prison,  _specifically_  because he wasn't supposed to do it.

It was forbidden and therefore it was an  _adventure_.

Johnson blinked, as if a thought had suddenly hit him, and something changed. Usually, it's normal for America to get the feeling that a human just didn't know what to think about him, or how to categorize him, or sometimes, how to approach safely.

It was… detachment. They know America is not  _like_  them, but with how much they understand their own feelings and judgment, more often than not, they would wonder whether that was a good thing or not.

The fear of the unknown tends to extrapolate that train of thought.

Hell, maybe America wasn't  _truly_  capable of happiness, sadness, pain, love… Maybe he was just copying humans, was just mirroring to fit in. Maybe it was on purpose, maybe not…

It could be fake, no? There were many similar theories, but America would love to disagree.

Either way, he knew Johnson had similar worries before. It doesn't matter what America does, he knew  _some_  people wouldn't be able to see him as… a  _person_ , as someone like them, someone who's part of their community, someone who deserves moral consideration like  _they_  do.

Well… Turns out America enjoyed being treated like a normal person with dreams and hopes and feelings like everyone else, he liked being considered part of what was considered the 'real world' because he knew he was just as real, and sharing his troubles seemed to make it transparently clear that America was not so different after all.

Johnson seemed to realize this, in an 'epiphany kind of way', so sudden that it made you feel like an idiot for not noticing it sooner.

An arm warped behind his neck and around his shoulder amiably. "Sorry, for treating you different…" Jonhson muttered awkwardly. "It was stupid…"

America grinned lightly, nodding. "It's alright, some people just get the  _heebie_ - _jeebies_  around me." He snickered. "M' used to it." He never liked this, but most Nations were cynical about it.

It was just  _normal._

"Still, it was way out of line." Johnson rolled his eyes, squeezing his shoulder and then retreating his arm when he had enough physical contact for the day. "What about your old man, though? If you still don't mind me asking…"

America's smile was gone and he sighed morosely. "Ah, yeah,  _that,_ uh… I…" He shook his head with a rueful smile. "We should have been more careful. He found out about it. I don't think he ever did get over my Independence…? Because he  _never_  missed the chance to criticize me or complain about  _anything_  I did, and he just  _had_  to do that in front of Woody…"

"'Woody' who…?"

"Woody, Woodrow Wilson,"

"...Why the nickname?"

"Presidents get nicknames." Shrug. "Unless I really  _hate_  them."

"So Woodrow...?"

"Couldn't keep his mouth shut and then  _everyone_  knew about it, and  _then_ …" Woodrow had been pretty busy with many things back then, he didn't have a whole lot of time to deal with this 'moral crisis', so he just let everyone else know in hope that  _someone_  would set him straight.

 _She,_  though… She wasn't spared such  _generous_  treatment.

"Weird enough," Or not so much. "some of them were almost treating me like a  _victim_ , like… like she was this agent from  _Satan_ who was there to ' _defile_ ' me and ruin the country or something…" America rubbed his eyes under his glasses, shaking his head.

"Sounds like one of them crazy Republicans."

"Democrat." America corrected quickly. "Those were Democrats at the time. But people went a bit over the edge on both sides back then." America drew one knee closer to his body, glancing at Jonhson with seriousness. "Hearing them talk about her, it was like watching people amassing for a  _witch_ - _hunt_. They were ready to find  _any_  reason to attack her, even if it meant attacking the Women Suffrage's movement."

America had finally found the freedom he needed, he couldn't  _give_   _it_   _up_ , couldn't go back to being the 'good and moral image that never enjoyed life' those politicians wanted so they could feel proud of  _themselves._ It's not like he wanted to enjoy any of that all the time, it's just that… the leash was just  _too_  tight.

However still, it was like they correlated his refusal with the movement itself, some even convincing themselves that it was a  _sign_  that said movement was the Devil's work…

"So I had to stop, see? They wanted those rights, and I was just standing in the way by not doing as I was told…" From that moment, with America involved, it was downright  _insanity._  For those women who wanted to participate in the political process, America was just making their objective even harder to achieve! "That wasn't enough, though, nooo, no, of course it  _wasn't_ …" America hissed, glaring at no specific point on the ground. "I don't know  _who_  did it, who had the idea, or how many agreed… but I  _know_  someone sabotaged her plane."

His proclamation received a wide-eyed look of shock.

This… falls squarely into the realm of  _conspiracy._  America didn't actually have any tangible proof… But that hidden  _smugness_  and  _satisfaction_  from them, that feeling of  _relief_  they felt… Like someone, somewhere, had done all of them a favor… America caught all of that and it was like a knife twisting in his gut.

He knew they had  _something_  to do with her death…

It was very easy to simply  _disappear_  behind the  _red tape,_  instead of lying. He thought that would be the end of it. But then that accident happened… He knows she'd never fly without making sure the plane was in  _perfect_  condition, everything working fine with a communication system could reach her even if something drastic happened.

That was no accident. It was no lack of preparation or recklessness. It couldn't be.

"A-Are you sure…? Our government had a penchant for assassination since then…?"

"It seems they had…" America chuckled cynically.

They weren't even the only ones with this  _penchant..._   _Aaron_   _Burr_ , the weasel of a man who killed  _Hamilton,_  had been America's first legitimate  _murder,_ so he didn't feel quite far from them.

Assassination and murder walk hand in hand, after all.

As soon as the weasel got into trouble under the law, it was easy to fake an accident… The law just wasn't working on America's side at the time, the man got to walk free after a trial, and at some point, he got sick of waiting for some kind justice.

Like Government, like Nation.

Maybe he shouldn't be surprised…

Either way, in the end, he could still trace the blame to the one who ratted him out in the first place. England, who had done the same thing in the past, and yet, acted like he was right and America was wrong, pushing that condescending empire-pedestal to say America  _wasn't ready to be a mature Nation after all._

It made his blood seethe with fury… But back then, he actually thought he was right, even without admitting.

America was startled by Johnson who stood up, nodding. "Well," He started, brushing the dust off his pants. "I see you  _really_  need to work this out with your dad first. You don't actually know what he was thinking,  _do_  you?"

…Did he? America opened his mouth to retort then closed it, looking away. What was England thinking, anyway? He admits he's kinda known for his temper, he'd barely even thought about it before he exploded. Should he give the old man the benefit of the doubt first? "Hm… Now I feel like a dick… Thanks."

England would have to explain himself and explain it  _well._

"Talking is 'essential', remember?" The man offered him a hand.

After a second, America sighed dejectedly, taking the offered help to stand, both walking slowly towards the street. "I figured... Next family reunion is going to be a doozy." He muttered sarcastically.

They happen every few years or so, and it's a recent thing… America can't say he doesn't find it a bit awkward to do something so… human… but just like many human customs, he's grown fond of it, and everyone kind of agrees that it had a strange lure to it. They never actually agreed to stop.

"Can't wait, everyone just complains about politics and trade deals for hours."

"Hm, I guess we have that in common…"

"Do the old people get drunk and start fighting over shit that happened centuries ago with  _swords?"_

"If you threw a history book and sharp stuff in front of them, it could happen…?"

"Heh, good try."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More context and information in the original News Feed entry on FF.net.


	19. Sign of Virtue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: VEEERY CONTROVERSIAL.

**Dresdner (UTC +2) 9:17 p.m.**

His brother  _really_  liked to prattle about peace and unity.

Pretty words. But Prussia politely dismissed those ideas on the premise of experience. Humans liked fighting for something. They absolutely loved it.  _Lived_  for it. If it's not for war, then it's for ideological reasons. Either way, a fight is a fight, and they hungered for it.

So why should Prussia not  _appreciate_  that…? Why not indulge them?

There weren't many wars for him to fight on these days, though. Well, there  _were_ , but no one lets Prussia go anywhere where he could do what he did  _best,_  so he couldn't help but find himself  _bored_. He had nothing to do. Life was boring and Prussia was the cliché image of an immortal.

Old and bored.

But he abhorred the idea of wallowing in boredom and self-pity. He's always been proactive, after all. So of  _course_  he'd gone to find a source of relief, as mediocre as it was in how relieving it could be, compared to the old days.

So here he was.

Prussia took a deep breath and grinned lightly as he pulled the hood of his jacket, further hiding his eyes, tuning out the loud voices around him. His mind predicted his opponent's next move as if he were in slow-motion, and he leaned to the side to dodge, promptingly clocking the man on the jaw.

Cheers were the response and Prussia backed away with a smirk. "That's all you got? Come on, get up, loser!"

He couldn't go far in the circle of people around him, so Prussia circled the downed man like a predator, watching him try to compose himself, struggling to stand straight. He finally did while Prussia waited with a condescending posture.

He couldn't stay in one underground fight ring for long, of course, sooner or later, people would notice he wasn't ever losing and betting on him would be a given. Which would be boring. News run fast, after all.

Prussia always had to put up a show to make his fun last.

So he steadied himself, with his fists raised and ready, grinning smugly as the man who challenged him glared. Bets on Prussia were still going strong as the ring cheered.

The man huffed and ran towards him like a bull, thinking he could take on him with sheer raw strength – although, Prussia still could beat him easily on that too – and only a simple dodge was enough to throw him off his game.

Inflexibility is such a terrible enemy…

Prussia just leaned to the side again – some people just didn't learn – punch missing his head by a hair, and raised a knee to hit his gut before hitting the back of his neck with his elbow.

The man fell and Prussia worried he'd hit him too hard for a second, but he seemed to be alive… Not much worse than he would normally be if he fought anyone else. The young man who currently handled all the bets and money approached the downed fighter, taking a quick second to check his vitals, then nodded and stood, announcing loudly.

"And this round's victory goes to The  _Awesome_  Prussian Death!"

Prussia raised his arms in victory, laughing over the crowd. "Anyone else wants to challenge the awesome me?!"

Amidst the cheering, the toughest-looking people seemed to recoil at the mere thought and they reluctantly backed away, as if understanding this was a lost cause after seeing so many get beaten and tossed around like rag-dolls.

Prussia felt a hint of smug satisfaction.

"Oh, I think you beat all of them," The brat who took the bets approached him with an older woman clinging to his arm. "We can have another one in a few hours, but by then I'm pretty sure most people will know you're beating everyone." He pointed out, handing Prussia a wad of cash, cut from the original profit. "Who would bet against  _that?"_

Prussia shook his head, pushing it back to the man. "Don't want any money, I'm just here for the  _thrill_. I guess I'll have a last round later, maybe, but uh…" He shrugged. "Maybe tomorrow."

The man shrugged as well, giving him an odd look as his fingers skipped through each note of the wad absently. "Hm, suit yourself, you weirdo…" He backed away, the lady with him giving Prussia some less than subtle sultry looks, which made Prussia grin back, just to indulge her. He was about to leave, anyway.

Not many people fight for the heck of it, much less while refusing money. But Prussia had more than enough money, some extra cash wouldn't make a damn different to him. It wasn't like he felt its flow as acutely as his brother - not like such a tiny amount would even be noticeable to Germany - It wasn't as satisfying and fulfilling, as Prussia wasn't exactly part of it.

He needed something  _tangible._

Amidst the dispersing crowd, mostly to find themselves a drink or to piss, Prussia pulled his hooded jacket closer to himself, fiddling with the Prussian Cross he wore as a necklace before shoving his hands into his pockets and walking away. It seems he was running out of gas in this ring.

There aren't many within their territory, so Prussia would run out of ground to cover soon. What was he supposed to do after that? Start again with a different identity? He scoffed and continued walking. He would buy himself a drink and take a walk, then.

.

After buying one, Prussia found himself walking outside, back into the lightened streets, out of that cramped hole hidden from society. He wandered into a park, where he found a bench right under a lightpost. He sat down with his own thoughts.

'The Prussian Death' felt appropriate to use, for an odd reason, he thought as he stared blankly at the bottle in his hands. Prussia doesn't quite feel alive like he once did. His grasp on the mere feeling of  _life_  seemed to be missing something valuable… Economy, civic emotions, government, all seemed distant to his senses.

However, his epithet seemed to be attracting attention, and Prussia couldn't say that didn't feel good. Deep down, he felt like this attention, this  _name_  being known amongst these unsavory groups of people, made him feel more alive than before. Just a tiny bit.

Before he started this, he was utterly bored and  _empty,_  wasting away as the weeks passed. His condition just seemed to take a nose-dive in the years after the fall of the Wall separating him from his brother.

Prussia didn't pretend to understand how Nations worked, he didn't pretend to know the secret for eternal survival – he guessed that maybe  _China_  knew – but he seemed to be doing much better by simply doing what he's always done.

Getting  _recognized._  Getting people to know his  _name,_  even if indirectly.

He knew The Prussian Death's name floated around the depths of the internet frequently. Maybe it was good that they couldn't actually  _find_  him… But then again, it felt good to know he had a known name.

It meant he  _existed._  That was reinvigorating.

It wasn't nearly as good as back in the day, sure… but it was something.  _No longer empty._  At least now, he didn't feel like he was nearly tipping over the edge of a cliff all the time. With a sigh, he took a long swig of beer, his head down and ignoring the few people who passed by every now and then. A few seconds of peace and quiet passed.

"Hello, may we speak with you, sir?"

Prussia blinked and looked up so he could see from under his hood. There were four men in front of him, all four wearing orange coats, seemingly civil workers or something, all… distinctively Middle Eastern. He frowned, but decided he needed to be polite.

His brother has been telling him to be so.

Too bad his natural filters didn't seem to work for him… Prussia was just as easily spotted as any human, he couldn't hide in plain sight… Just another damn deficiency that other Nations loved to poke fun of in the past…

It would be much easier to avoid people if his body just worked  _normally_ …

"Can I help you?" That was the most they would get out of him. Prussia was never the most polite or cordial. Especially with strangers. He spotted two more following them, though, both wearing normal clothes and one was holding a camera. Maybe they've been following these people. They didn't seem quite  _happy_.

"Ah, ja." The one at the front smiled with his hands clasped close, bowing lightly as if trying to look meek. "You see, we want you to ask you that you stop drinking that." The man pointed at the bottle. "For the sake of the people in our community, we think it's better if we keep such things out of this area. We're trying to keep things clean and secure here, free from that sort of influence."

Prussia raised an eyebrow, looking down at the half-empty bottle of beer, then up at them again. This line seemed  _familiar_. How he wished he could read these people… but then again, he's not their Nation. "…I appreciate the  _concern?_  But I'm fine with it, alright? It's my first and only for the night." He swirled the bottle a bit and tilted his head.

"No, no, it's not that, I'm sorry. You see, sir?" The man pointed at the nearest lightpost. "This is a Sharia Controlled Zone? You're not allowed to drink here, for everyone's sake, of course." The yellow sign on the lightpost, which he hadn't spotted before, said  _W_ _irkungsbereich, '_ Field of Activity', and ' _Schariapolizei_ '.

Sharia Police.

So it  _was_  what Prussia had been thinking… He remembers the last time these people were on the news… Arrested, a group of seven, but the Court reached the  _senile_  conclusion that they were only expressing their rights to  _free_ - _speech_ …

Prussia briefly spotted the ones with a camera narrowing their eyes.  _"…So you say…"_  He barely heard them mutter.

Then he turned to the men, head shaking as he made his disbelief visible through his voice. "…Just  _who_  gave you this authority…?"

"This is a Muslim area, we're enforcing our laws-"

"No, no, I mean, when did our government allow this?" Prussia stood up.

"This is none of their concern. We've deemed this our Wirkungsbereich, and we're enforcing the law here. So we're asking people to listen, to have a better community here under Allah." The smile was starting to annoy him…

Prussia scowled. Moral busybodies… "Yeah,  _no."_  Was his answer and he took a long swig of alcohol before offering it to the man. "Want some?"

"Wha-? No-"

"Suit yourself." Prussia found it unbelievable that these people thought they could enforce laws, not just that, but  _religious_  and  _political laws_ … Prussia didn't practice their religion, why should he listen to said religion's laws?

He started walking away with an impatient frown, intending on going back to Berlin to talk to his brother.

This couldn't keep happening.

However, before he could take three steps, a hand grabbed his hood, pulling it back. "We're not done talking, sir!" Prussia held himself back, his hardened battle-reflex triggered and he stopped his elbow from hitting the man's face. He sneered quietly, fist clenching as he turned. His shockingly white looks seemed to startle them, and even more when he turned to glare.

Humans are always so twitchy when they see his eyes, and after centuries, it's more of an annoyance than a self-conscious discomfort as it once was. "What?" Prussia snapped. He had no patience for human superstitions these days…

They took a step back, but overall recomposed themselves pretty easily. The camera-holding followers actually stared with wide eyes, eyes wandering over his face and a bit further bellow, maybe to his cross.

"I-I'm sorry, do you live around here?" The first asked, the others giving him stranged looks - oh, he knew  _those_  looks, he's seen them countless times in the past, a  _particularly_  memorable one being before they attempted to burn him alive while accusing him of being a demon…

"No." Prussia droned with a deadpan, ignoring the sudden memories.

What were these guys trying to do? Establish some kind of authority, it seems? A religious authority. In a secular country, with a secular government…? He knew how far they would go with their 'persuasion' of other people. This wasn't supposed to be allowed, the rules of  _their_  country or religion shouldn't apply to  _his_  country.

The man continued with this line of questioning, which Prussia answered tiredly, only to avoid a conflict that would make him look bad. He knew how people were being protective of asylum-seekers. Punching one would just make him look like a violent, short-tempered  _idiot._

While that, he saw another one of them turn to the camera-people, who seemed just  _so_  much more interested in this. "Could you leave? We're not doing anything wrong, we're just talking."

"You're… you're harassing  _him_." Was their response. Oh boy… They were under the impression that he was  _Germany…?_ That couldn't be good…

The man had turned his back to him, so Prussia could see embedded on the back of the coat, 'Shariah Police'. His eyes widened slightly and he nearly grinned.

Right…! These weren't workers' uniforms. These were  _special_  uniforms.

This is  _perfect_ , he thought. Now he could  _act_ and have an argument for it. "Hey, dummkopf!" He called, making all of them turn and give him stern glares, as if warning him. "Is that a  _uniform_  you're wearing? It's not a civil workers' uniform or something, right?"

"Like I said, we're the Schariapolizei. We enforce the law of Allah."

Prussia narrowed his eyes and continued. "You're not allowed-"

He was cut off by one of the men. "We're doing what's moral to our community, it's our right to make sure they're being adhered to."

Prussia shook his head and continued with a louder tone. "I don't care. By federal law, you're not allowed to wear  _uniforms_  that express political positions in  _gangs_  around this country. You're breaking  _our_  laws."

This seemed to throw them off, only a little, but they were back on their mental feet in a second. "The Court-Justice in this country allowed us to do this, it has been done already, it's our right-"

"I thought this was none of the government's business." Prussia pointed as he said this harshly. "Also, you're not allowed to parade around acting like police officers, intimidating and bullying people. You're a pseudo-police, threatening the rule of law, and only police appointed by the  _State_  have the legitimate right to  _act_  as police officers." Prussia approached menacingly. "You're breaking. our. laws."

They backed away. "L-Look sir, we don't want any violence. But this is our Wirkungsbereich, we're doing what's best for people here."

Prussia continued, expression unfazed and his tone chilling. "Did the State tell you could do that? I don't  _remember_  that happening. This is not your backward country with your backward laws. We can drink, and smoke, and  _fuck_  whoever we want, and  _you_ are free to  _not_  do that if you don't want to. Simple as that, bengel."

Prussia had gotten close enough to make them back away again. But before they could counter him, he continued.

"By the way, you should take  _those_  off, because like I said, political uniforms are not allowed."

"And like we said, this is  _our_  Wirkungsbereich. You have to adhere to Sharia for-"

"No, no,  _you_  have to listen to Sharia whatever.  _I'm_  not a Muslim." Prussia shrugged, gesturing to himself before crossing his arms. "I'm  _Christian_." The last word was delivered with a grin.

This seemed to make all fo them narrow their eyes. "Well. Christianity isn't allowed here, either."

"I thought we'd established that you have no real authority here." Prussia swirled the bottle in front of them on purpose. "I don't have to listen to you, or your religious dogma. I don't even like your religion." He shrugged. Oh, Prussia could feel the future pain in the ass his words would bring…

"Excuse me?" They made faces as the leader hissed, leaning closer to Prussia.

"You heard me. I think it's a shitty religion." Prussia shrugged again, mentally laughing to himself. "I mean, praying five times a day? Who has time for that…?"

Oh, Prussia could see the veins, he could see the anger building up with all the classical signs. Fists clenching, scowls and teeth, hunching over as if readying to attack.

He knew he wasn't supposed to provoke them. His brother prattles about peace and unity, but… Prussia always  _dismisses_  them. To him, humans  _love_  fighting. If not with words, then with fists. If not with fists, then with knives. If not that, then it's with _guns_.

"And seriously, your prophet was  _kind_  of an asshole?" Prussia kept his tone light and humorous, his gestures were lazy and careless as they took slow steps towards him. "And your god is a real dick-" He was forced to step back to dodge a punch, but he found himself backing away with a large grin. "What?! I thought you guys liked free-speech!"

Oh, Prussia  _loved_  being an asshole…

 _This_  is what he wanted. He wanted them to  _attack,_  only so he would have an  _excuse_  to fight back. Many wars started with excuses or scapegoats. Prussia waved his hands mockingly, his tone cheery but  _fake._  "Oh, don't you people know what free-speech rights are? You can't  _attack_  someone for hurting your feelings…! You big baby!"

"You…" The man started, teeth gritting. "You're the kind of  _filthy_  non-believer we have to defend Islam from…" They had their fists up, although if they had knives, they'd have pulled them out already.

If Prussia went any further, they would be foaming out of their mouths. Either way, he got what he wanted, so he took a deep breath and grinned, adjusting his posture to fight. "Bring it on…  _human."_ He hissed the last word, ignoring their widening eyes.

He knew this was a dirty trick, he knew he would regret it, he knew he was being recorded, he knew his brother would be so  _disappointed,_  but fuck…

…How he missed having an  _enemy._

* * *

**Berlin** **–** **Federal Chancellery (Bundeskanzleramt) (UTC +2) 9:32 p.m.**

Germany glared at the mirror in his office. "Tch…" He attempted to comb his hair differently once again, trying to find something he was comfortable with.

The day where he would have to make a public appearance was getting closer and closer… There was no  _official_  date, of course, but he just knew that the more he waited, the less time he had left. It was  _inevitable._

With his usual look, what would people think…? What if he looked too militant? Would they wonder why? Would they think he was still in the military? Maybe if he looked more business-like, people would be less nervous? Would anyone think he was just pretending? Would they notice he was trying too hard? He attempted to part his hair like they did, but a mesh of hair still fell over his forehead and eye.

His shoulders dropped with a huff upwards that made it fly before falling into place again. How he hated hair on his face…

He pulled it back as usual, rather sloppily too, but he felt like this wasn't going anywhere. There was a beep from the phone that nearly startled Germany, and he quickly picked it up, sitting down behind the desk. "Yes?"

" _Sir?"_ A woman's voice spoke.  _"A 'Herr_ _D_ _rechsler' is here and wishes to see you. He's being… very persistent." S_ he sounded nervous.

Germany hesitated for a second, name ringing several bells in his head, then he sighed. "Send him in, no security."

" _Ja,_ _Herr Beilschemidt."_

Placing the phone back on its place, Germany sat straight, hands stopping for a few seconds as his mind organized all the necessary information, then rummaging through papers, all which were only mildly unorganized.  _Drechsler_  was a young man when Germany first met him, roughly 13 years ago, and that was under  _unfortunate_  circumstances for the man.

As usual for his kind, he had to lose contact with the man, despite the fact that they could have been friends. Obviously, Benno Drechsler connected the dots and took a risk. Germany figured he at least had the right, if he really just wanted to  _thank_  him without any secrets in the way…

It only took a few minutes for him to sense that presence coming his way, and then it stopped by the door, stewing in hesitation and nervousness. Germany sighed, rolling his eyes amicably. "Don't just  _stand_  there."

Startled. After a few more seconds, the door opened and revealed a much older Mr. Drechsler in his 30's, wearing a frazzled suit. Even back then he wasn't all prim and proper, didn't even like to shave too much. After the events the man lived through, 10 years certainly did a number on him. "Whoa… Herr Beilschemidt? It's really you…"

With a grim nod, Germany stood and walked up to him, hesitantly offering a hand for a handshake. "Ja… You've aged." As humans usually do…

Drechsler took his hand with a small grin, as if he couldn't quite believe it. "…And you haven't. I was worried I was wrong there for a second…"

It was amazement and gratitude, just like years ago. Germany nodded, turning away to hide the tiny smile on his face. He felt a bit awkward, yes, but maybe they needed some coffee. "I'm assuming you're here for confirmation?"

There was a second of hesitancy as the man sat on the chair in front of his desk, hands rubbing nervously. "Probably… I-I had my theories, since I saw this on the news. I was strangely sure of it… I just thought I wasn't thanking the right person by not thanking…  _you,_ if that makes sense…"

How often does he feel such a  _pure_  form of gratitude? Germany couldn't remember the last time, or even if it ever happened so genuinely and so personally.

So, so close to the heart, and it felt so good. Germany hated it.

"It does make sense. I… don't think I've ever been thanked like this." Germany turned with two cups of coffee, placing on in front of the man. "It's not like I've always been worth thanking…"

The man opened his mouth to say something, before stopping himself, eyes fixating on the coffee. "So what everyone's saying, you really were…"

"A Nazi?" Germany sat back on his chair. Maybe he should ready himself for the many times he'd be asked this same question.  _Everyone's_  already talking about it, it seems.

The man flinched. "I'm s-sorry, I didn't-"

Germany shook his head, sighing. "It's fine… It happened and I'm paying my dues…"

"…I know people have been talking about this… But you can be sure I'll be the first to stand by you. If you hadn't fought so much to get me home… I probably would have died in that hole…"

Germany frowned and nodded as he took a sip, letting the man continue.

"The Americans would have gotten rid of my body, for sure… and my family would've never even  _heard_  about what happened… I-I know how much you pushed to get me out of Guantanamo, and you didn't even know me. People  _will_  see that for what it is…!"

Germany felt the dangerous claws of  _pride,_  inching close like a poisonous snake. He pushed it aside as quickly as possible. "…You'd have to explain what happened, if you were to use that argument."

Early 2000's. A terrorist suspect caught in the Middle East, sent to and held in the American prison, turned out to be a  _German_   _citizen_ who had been at the wrong place, at the wrong time. America had completely  _lost his mind_  after that fateful attack, even innocent people were being tortured for vengeance and out of  _hatred,_ and convincing him that this man wasn't even an Al-Quaeda sympathizer was a  _grueling_  task…

He just refused to listen to  _reason_ …

"I… I don't feel good about staying quiet about this…" Drechsler began with a serious veneer, although these memories brought forth a sliver of terror in the back of the man's mind. "That… That man was a  _monster_ , Herr Ludwig… I could hear the screams all the way from my cell…! Just the fear of what I knew was coming…"

His eyes shut tightly and he nodded. This couldn't possibly reach the public. He had to do something… "…Are you still going through treatment?" It was a weak attempt to changing the direction of the conversation.

Drechsler stopped and then sighed, eyes wandering away. "Just occasional nightmares… If something reminds me of it during the day. I have pills." The man smiled lightly, shrugging, then the smile was gone. "I'll understand if you have any problems with this going public… I mean, politics, or something?"

"Or something." Leaning forward, Germany nodded again. "You…" He chose his words carefully. "You understand that I never want to live through war again, right?"

This time, Drechsler stayed quiet as Germany continued.

"My whole life has been a war, and I know how they start. Every. straw.  _counts._  But I can never tell which will be the  _last_ , or at least I feel like I can't tell… I don't want to test my luck with other Nations, they're already extra cautious around me, even more with this… immigration problem…"

Drechsler blinked and stood straighter. "…So… you don't want them here too…?"

Germany nearly grimaced, hand massaging his forehead. "I… It's not that… I  _do_  want to help…  _I_   _need_   _to_ , otherwise, they'll think I'm…"

"…Reverting back to the past…"

Germany nodded. "So, I understand you want some kind of compensation for what they did to you, you're right in doing so… but  _please,_  just…" He took a calming breath. "Just  _wait_  a little. I can't have anything more to deal with, not now…" Germany knows he's nearly  _begging_ , but he feels like he's at his tipping point  _all the time._

He would not let  _this_  throw him over the edge again, though. He'd promised himself, and the world, that he would never let that  _beast_  lurking beneath the surface out of its cage again, no matter what. Even so, he would still take all the breaks he could get.

Drechsler nodded at this, casting his head down. He could feel the resignation and the anger, none directed at Germany, though. He couldn't tell where it was directed, it was scattered and messy. Maybe not even Drechsler knew. "I… I understand that things are complicated for you now, but-"

The door was slammed open, making both jump out of their skin. Luckily, neither were holding hot coffee at that moment.

"West!" His brother's grinning face was in his office, holding a bunch of coats under his arm.

Germany stood abruptly, hands planted over the desk. "Bruder! What have I told you about barging in like this?!" He snapped.

"Ah, something or other about decorum or whatever." Prussia shrugged and took two steps in before he noticed Drechsler. "Oh,  _you…!_ I know you!" His grin widened.

"Herr Gilbert…?! Y-You too?!" He then turned to Germany. "Your  _brother?!_ "

Ah, Germany never actually told him that they were related. Drechsler's meeting with Prussia had been brief and the less the man knew about them, the better. Protocol, of course. Germany sighed, waving a hand towards Prussia's general direction. "Ja, this is my older brother."

Prussia nodded, still grinning. He seemed to be in a  _strangely_  good mood. But also… "How have you been doing? You look way too old now, I can see white hairs!"

"Ahahah, I guess I've been very stressed out…!"

Germany interrupted. "What are you carrying there?"

Prussia's grin turned mildly menacing. "Take a look." He took one from his pile and threw it to Germany.

His eyes widened when he read what was written on the back, and took half a step back. Oh, no… "B-Bruder, where did you get this…?"

Prussia stood with a hand on his waist, eyes piercing Germany's. "West, we  _really_  need to talk. We can't let this keep going."

Germany's grip on the fabric tightened and he looked up at Prussia, still feeling dread creeping into his mind. "…Bruder. Did you  _hurt_  asylum-seekers…?"

Prussia scoffed. "I didn't hurt them, I just  _subdued_  them because they didn't want to take these off. Oh, and they also attacked first."

"Bruder-"

"This is against the law, remember?!"

"Bruder, please-"

"If they were Germans dressed as  _Nazi,_  you wouldn't have let them walk free, would you?! Why is this different?! Why are we always letting them get away with this sort of thing?!"

"Stop!" Hands hitting the desk loudly, Germany leaned over it with wide eyes. "Herr Drechsler… We can continue this conversation another day… Please, I need to talk to my brother… in  _private."_ He hissed the last word.

The man backed away, uncertain. "O-Of course… I'll come another day, or… yeah. Thank you for your time, it was… good to see you again…" He was out of the room quickly, nervously glancing between the two as he closed the door, and in a few seconds, he was far enough and they were alone.

"Please tell me no one saw you doing this…" Germany sat down heavily and rubbed his eyes, feeling exhausted.

Prussia didn't answer. Instead, he looked at his shoes, almost pouting.

Germany looked up, fearing the worst. "There was a camera, wasn't it? Please tell me I'm wrong…"

Prussia huffed and sat down as well, leaving the coats on the back of the chair. "There was." His tone was subdued as he crossed his arms and legs.

Germany leaned forward, hands covering the lower part of his face. He couldn't quite believe his ears, but  _Prussia_ …He just shouldn't be surprised…! "H-How could you  _do_  this, Bruder…? Don't you realize what you did? You just hurt a refugee…! There's no anonymity to protect us anymore…!"

"I  _subdued_  them-"

"Your version of 'subduing' can hurt a human very easily." Germany narrowed his eyes at him.

Prussia leaned over the desk, keeping his voice restrained as if trying not to shout. "But that doesn't matter! They were breaking  _your_  laws, they were harassing  _your_  citizens, to submit to  _their_  stupid religion! How-No,  _why_  are we letting this happen…?!"

Germany let a closed fist hit the desk loudly. "It's not that simple…! What, do you want to over-police every single one of them? Put up surveillance…?! Put them in  _camps?!"_

Prussia stood abruptly, his anger thunderous. "You know damn well I didn't say that!"

"These are just people who need a safe place from their war-ridden country, the  _least_  we could do is grant them this help…! We're the only ones willing to do so, and we're in a position to do so…!" Germany growled back at his brother's hostility.

"I  _get_  that! But what we're doing is  _insane!_ We can't keep this open-border policy, we can't possibly ignore that we're easily letting dangerous individuals in!"

"How do you expect us to-?!"

"This is not about them running from war! It's about how  _we're_  dealing with this!" Prussia leaned closer to him, pointing at himself. Then his tone softened as if he were pleading. "We're simply taking too  _many,_  West…! We're not integrating them properly and we're taking too many, we're letting dangerous people in…! And worst thing yet, you give any group of humans too much leeway and some individuals will start to take advantage of it! That's just how they all  _are…!"_

"You can't  _say_  that…! Do you want everyone to see us as fascists again?! How do you THINK people will react to this?! They'll accuse you of that now…!" Now Germany stood, gesturing angrily as he spoke.

"It's not fascism to be  _reasonable…!_  West,  _listen,_ this is simply not  _sustainable…!_  We can't keep this up, our resources are strained as it is, we're accepting  _economic_  migrants, and people from northern  _Africa_  who aren't even actual refugees! A million until the end of this year! And West, I-I…" Prussia stopped for a second, as if building up courage, then looked at him in the eye. "I've been meaning to tell you, just…  _stop_  with this self-torture…!"

Germany stopped and stared in disbelief. "...What…?!"

Prussia wasn't fazed. His brows only knitted in anger and  _pity._  "I know you think you're  _redeeming_  yourself, that you want to help so you can prove to the world that you've changed, that you're morally righteous, but this is out of control…!"

Germany clenched his fists. "I-I'm not… I'm not doing this to  _prove_  anything…!"

"Yes, yes you  _are…!_  You think you have to take the burden, more than anyone else, because of what we did-"

"…No, that's-"

"You think that if you start thinking with a colder rationale, you'll slip back into your past-self-"

"No, no… I'm…" Germany lowered his head, trying to block his brother's words with no success.

"I'm not saying we should forget…! But you  _need_  to move on! I can't stand to watch this self-pitying and war-guilt anymore!" Prussia finally shouted.

Germany kept his head down, glaring at the wood of the desk with glassy eyes. "Get  _out."_

Prussia's eyes widened and he backed away, as if the words were a slap to the face. "West-"

"Just… leave me alone, Bruder. Please."

Prussia seemed to pout angrily for a second, then he sighed loudly. He picked up the coat on the desk, as well as the others. "…I'm keeping these as evidence. Just… call me when you think things through, for  _once,_  Kleiner Bruder…"

Just the sound of the door closing was enough to startle him. Germany sat down again, arms crossed over the desk as he laid his head over them, sighing heavily, finally alone with his own thoughts, now filled with painful memories and conflicting thoughts. Along with guilt.

A  _lot_  of guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More context and information in the original News Feed entry on FF.net.


	20. Nationalist

**London – Buckingham Palace (UTC +1) 11:16 a.m.**

England paced back inside the room for the tenth time within the hour, then after a few seconds, walked back out on the balcony with a long-suffering sigh, looking over to the direction where he could feel the conglomeration of people.

He hissed quietly to himself before walking back in. "Don't these bloody brats have anything else to  _do_  with themselves?" He snapped at nothing. "Don't they have classes to attend?!"

The servant organizing his luggage gave him a nervous glance before going back to what she was doing. He's just arrived from his trip to Africa, with its unbearable heat –which he was glad to leave behind – but he was given no time to rest, it seems.

England stood by the balcony door, hand pressed against his forehead. "Why can't I just stay here…?" He moaned to himself. "I feel like those kids want to eat me alive…!"

It was almost…  _bloodlust_. Not quite as threatening or oppressing, but definitely  _hostile_. Like a pack of angry cats, hissing and clawing.

It wouldn't do for him to hide, his Queen was having none of that. She understood his need to  _disappear_  when he was suddenly confronted with this, but it was just not acceptable. He shouldn't hide from his people, they should know who he is, especially now when the world seemed to have  _stopped_  for the Nations.

He was supposed to be going to Germany's with his Queen, but thanks to this worldwide stop sign, he was awaiting his doom by the hands of the  _P_ _ress_.

Hungry dogs that they were…

The number of nay-sayers was diminishing and proof just sprouted out of the shadows of the internet like free gifts to the media every single day. There was no room to hide. At least the media was having fun, with their numbers skyrocketing so quickly – someone from BBC even called the palace to express their utmost gratitude…

So far, the response seemed to be relatively mixed, but with a hint of positiveness and curiosity. Although, England still didn't know why so many  _young_  people were fostering such hostility towards him.

The Press wanted views, but the students wanted blood.

Because they were  _college_  students, after all. Maybe they studied history and now saw him as a degenerate monster! But… England shook his head. That couldn't be it… He's done good before, he  _knows_  he has.

History knows it. Or better yet, it  _should_  know.

Unless they didn't  _really_  study any history and were just going by the less informed consensus that he, along with other European Nations, simply strolled into Africa, mowing down innocent people with machine-guns and taking everyone who survived as slaves, using nets and all.

Or… they're part of the crowd who thought he and the other Nations deliberately caused all wars, as if humans needed Nations to do that…

Whichever the reason, he would be a lot more comfortable if he knew what they were thinking. At least  _then_  he would know if he could counter them. Even though the last thing he wanted was to confront those kids. He felt like they would  _bite_.

England snapped his fingers and turned to the servant inside, who was closing his now empty suitcase. "Eunice, lass," He called and her head snapped to attention.

"Yes, Sir England?" She straightened her posture, hands firmly clasped together as servants usually do.

"Don't you have a daughter in college…?"

Her shoulders tensed for a second. "Yes…" Worry and apprehension.

"Would you be able to tell me what they've been saying? I know your daughter certainly wouldn't represent everyone out there, but anything is better than nothing at this point." England shrugged.

Eunice took a deep breath and stepped around the bed. "I-I'm sorry… We've been growing distant since she entered college, sir… She called me a while ago to ask if I knew anything, since I work here…"

England nodded, his hands behind his back as he paced around the room, gesturing silently for her to could continue.

"I think she's under the impression that you're a… uh, she said… 'misogynistic, racist, slaver and a murderer'…? I-I'm sure she didn't  _mean_  it like that, I, uh… she doesn't know you-" She began stuttering heavily with fear, as if afraid there would be retaliation.

But of course she'd meant it, if the hostility outside was anything to go by. England sighed and raised a hand to stop her stuttering. "I understand, I'm not mad at her…" He pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly feeling tired. "Why do I feel like that's the general idea…?" He walked outside again, shaking his head.

England cursed his luck to all hell. This day and age was the worst possible time for the Nations' secret to be blown. Everything was so painfully politicized and Nations would be caught in a political web that was bound to pull them in all directions.

He would have preferred to not be directly tangled. It wouldn't hurt nearly as much to work in the shadows.

He also couldn't believe he was being called 'misogynistic', even a 'racist'. Where were they getting these ideas…? What were the schools teaching them…? And a 'slaver'? The word itself brought memories that made him shudder in disgust.

Did they think all Nations were supposed to be modern pillars of morality throughout their entire lives? That they would have fought for women's rights during the Middle Ages? That they scoffed in derision at the notion of slaves when it had existed for several millennia?

England had been  _lucky_  to learn how wrong it was at an early age…

So odds are, many wouldn't be able to differentiate him from his government, as it's much easier for the mentally dull to rationalize a simple solution and conclude that  _someone_  was to blame than to go through the nuances of history and find the complex set of factors that led them to this very moment in time…

England leaned over the balcony fence, head turning to where he could feel and hear the slight buzz of animosity and chatter. With all of this running through his mind, he really didn't want to face either of them… Either way, he felt like he would be bitten by hungry dogs or clawed by raging cats…

* * *

England stopped in the hallway once he found a mirror, just to adjust his suit. He wore a normal modern suit, of course. As much as he enjoyed the 'old-school' style, the last thing he wanted was to look like your stereotypical English Man with his tweed suit – which he loved – or more than he already did, somehow.

He always seemed to resemble the stereotype to people. He was the soul of England, after all. Naturally, people got that feeling, no matter how unique he actually looked.

A nice first-world problem to have… For a Nation, that is.

"Sir?" He heard Eunice call.

"Yes, yes, I know." England abandoned the mirror and continued after her.

The room where reporters were being allowed to sit and wait was big enough to cause an echo, and they were either meandering around with their hand-held cameras or speaking in front of a cameraman. Very few were sitting on the chairs there, waiting with their phones.

The Royal Guard stood elegantly in every corner beside his Queen and her son. Maybe he preferred the raging cats outside…? England frowned lightly and walked straight to them once they were done talking, guards immediately standing to attention as he walked by. He ignored the world around as more and more eyes turned to him.

"Oh, Arthur, good to see you,  _finally_." Prince Charles only mumbled the last word. England did take his sweet time, after all.

He suppressed the need to roll his eyes and bowed politely to his Queen instead. "My Queen." He was still decidedly ignoring the stares directed at him as he helped her sit.

"You look like a child wanting to hide behind his mother's skirt, Arthur." She commented with a well-hidden amusement.

"That obvious…?" England wondered wryly to himself.

His Queen didn't seem to hear it, either that or she ignored it. "You're old enough to deal with this, don't be a brat."

This time England did roll his eyes, sighing exasperatedly. "…I'm 15 centuries ahead of you…"

"Then act like it." No-nonsense as usual. He knew his crown prince wanted to laugh, which made England glare. He was not looking forward to the day  _this_  guy became his King.

Still…

England knew how to speak in front of crowds, he's done so before. More specifically, in front of nobles or other privileged people who knew about his existence. Therefore, speaking in front of these people,  _in theory,_  shouldn't be a challenge.

While reporters and journalists arrived and settled, there was still chatter and the occasional flash from cameras. That was what made him particularly queasy.

He was on the records now. People could see and judge from all over the world.

This was a whole different level of exposure, especially compared to a royal court. Still, he was 16 centuries old. He could handle this just fine…

Right then, England could sense a presence approaching the room, a Nation. It was a familiar one, and he couldn't help but pinch the bridge of his nose tiredly once again. "Oh, for the love of  _God…_  Why is  _he_  here…?" As the Nation approached with loud steps, England crossed his arms, not looking at him, shoulders tensing when the smell of nicotine hit his senses.

"Long time no see,  _little_   _brother_." He heard that dreadful lazy and droll tone behind him. "How yer doing?"

England huffed and turned to the redhead, closed hand in front of his nose to block some of the smoke as he immediately readied himself for frustration. "Now what do  _you_  want?"

"Rude." Scotland, being slightly taller, easily looked over him, instead turning to the Queen. "Hello, Lizzie." He waved.

"Hello, Allistair." He was given a smile and a wave as well, making those closest to the scene turn to the two.

Scotland had done him the immense favor of taking care of young Elizabeth during the war… England didn't like to be bitter about it, but the two were close after that and his brother really liked to rub it in his face.

"A little respect would be appreciated." England seethed quietly.

Scotland finally turned to him with a mild glare. "Didn't respect  _my_  Queen, did ye? At least I'm being nice here." Oh, the Queen of Scots… Beheaded by dear Bess. Despite being the eldest, Scotland could be infuriatingly childish…

"She's your Queen as well." England hissed, ripping the cigarette from his brother who backed away, mildly startled. "And stop smoking in  _our_  Queen's presence, would you?"

"Right… Anyway, Artie-"

"Don't call me that." England huffed impatiently, hand grinding the remains of the drug in one hand, barely feeling it burn his skin. "And who's  _this_?" He turned to the young man who had followed his brother and now stood a meter behind with a tiny notebook where he scribbled nonstop.

"Huh?" Scotland raised an eyebrow, as if not knowing what he was talking about, then looked back and realization seemed to hit him in a rather anticlimactic manner. "Oh, that's Cailean. A wee apprentice of sorts." He shrugged.

The young man seemed to freeze from being addressed suddenly, but quickly smiled when looking at them. "Hello!" He waved happily, although it sounded a bit forced.

He certainly wasn't all his. England stared and then turned to his brother, who was lighting yet  _another_  cigarette. "I worry for London if this brat was accepted into the Yard." He droned as he cleaned the cigarette remains on a handkerchief that he had in his suit.

"He's a smart lad." Scotland raised both hands in amnesty. "The Yard doesn't throw idiots at me, only the ones with the most potential."

"I really don't know why you're  _still_  working for Scotland Yard. I hope it's not because of the name…"

"Of course not, even if it  _i_ _s_  flattering." Scotland then put a hand on his chest as a mock gesture. "But investigating and arresting the many horrible people you have is a hobby of mine, ye know?"

"Hm…"

"Uh… Sir England?" Cailean leaned forward, head poking from behind the man. "W-Would you mind terribly if I asked the Queen for her autograph?" He had a very light Scottish accent.

Scotland opened his mouth with a smile, as if ready to say 'not at all', but England interrupted. "Yes, I would very much mind."

"What about-"

" _No_." He turned to his brother. "Had to be one of yours, hadn't it?"

"Don't doubt him just because he's Scottish." The Scot continued more forcefully as Cailean went back to his notebook with a gloomy look. "He's  _way_  smarter than those harpies and gender ambiguous kids of yers out there."

England scowled, feeling mildly offended. "…Just kids being kids, as usual. Apparently, they think I'm the devil." He shrugged in annoyance, but couldn't help but feel hurt. Kids these days… The most ungrateful bunch he's ever had.

"Ah, about that…" Scotland scratched the back of his head, chuckling. "I had to walk through them. They seem to think you're…" He stopped to hold back a snicker. "the 'Patriarchy'…!"

England raised an eyebrow in dull disbelief. "…What?"

"I know, ye always been such a  _bhitseach_  to women. Especially to  _that_  Queen of yours."

England frowned at the flagrant use of Gaelic, but ignored the insult. He shook his head, pushing the nonsense away. He had no time for this. "Alright, that aside, just…  _why_  are you here?"

Scotland straightened and pulled him by the shoulder lightly, so that both were facing away from the crowd. His Queen began to speak in front of the cameras formally.

"Ye see, Artie…" He began quietly, mirth disappearing from his expression. "The records from  _88_  were burned, like we agreed to do, but the problem is that… it  _is_  possible to know that they were erased on  _purpose_ , and that they had something to do with  _ye_." He pointed at England lightly, tone and expression turning somber.

The sounds around him seemed to be muffled to his ears. England stared at the ground as his eyes widened, unblinking and silent for a few seconds. He felt a hollow sense of dread and regret sinking in as his heart sped up. "…So someone knows…?"

"Can't say… There's no real proof, but… Ye know how humans are… It's easy for them to connect the dots, even with no proof… or logic."

 _1888_.

Not a year England wanted to remember… Not something he wanted anyone to know. He swallowed dry and forced a scoff as he readjusted his suit, pushing everything aside. "There is no proof, so I shouldn't worry."

"Be careful, Artie…" Scotland cautioned, holding his cigarette close to his mouth. "If anyone finds out…"

"There's  _no_  proof. You said so yourself." England repeated as he stepped away from the redhead. "I'll just deny it… If it ever comes up." He would lie and deny it, no matter what, because nothing could be proven.

No DNA, no witness, no video, no records.  _Nothing_  could be reasonably linked back to him. But Scotland was right. If this particular year of his life came to light, if people found out what he'd  _done_ …

There would be  _no forgiveness._

Even though England was certain it  _couldn't_  be his fault, it wouldn't matter, no one would care. He'd crossed a line that should never be crossed, even if he didn't realize it at the time. It felt like it would be a cruel punch from the  _universe_  if everyone found out and he had to deal with the fallout. Just cruel and  _unfair._

It wasn't his fault a  _witch_  had cursed him…

* * *

Scotland watched from the corner as England stood beside his – sorry,  _their_  – Queen. He leaned back on the wall, hands in the pockets of his coat. He had come to this place specifically to warn his brother of a potential breach of secrecy in the Yard, hoping he would watch his tongue. It was an unfortunate accident that Scotland swore he would forget after burning every possible proof he could find…

Hopefully, England wouldn't let anything strange slip, being the one  _interrogated_ and all. Because that's what this is.

" _Why was this ever a secret?"_

" _How was it hidden for so long?!"_

" _What were_ _you_ _doing behind the curtains this whole time?"_

" _Did_ _Nations_ _manipulate history?"_

" _Was the past written in_ _our_ _books real?!"_

Just plain interrogation.

Well, Scotland could understand their concerns… As unfounded as he found them to be. Rewriting history? There were too many Nations who would have wanted to have a say on the matter, many who would have preferred to lie or omit things. Much like he and England did.

He who controls the past, controls the future, no? Orwell was a wise man overall…

So normally, it was better to leave it to humans, letting winners of wars decide, but never given much leeway by the other Nations. Because Nations  _always_  remembered the truth, as far as humans were concerned. It was difficult to push a narrative when  _too_   _many_  remembered the original events.

As to why it was a secret, hidden for so long?

Scotland could remember a time when there was no secret. He was nothing but a kid back then, hidden in his corner while greater Nations ruled Europe.

Rome, Britannia, as well as many others, were  _deities_. They left the  _boring_  political process to humans, fought through wars like titans, and enjoyed the luxuries of their wealth at home, meddling whenever they saw fit while humans bowed to them.

Whimsical gods of war.

It was no different for him with the Picts. He was a smaller tribal deity, while Britannia, his mother, was a greater goddess of their land to whom he brought offerings in an attempt to remain in her good graces. She could kill him easily, after all. She always  _smiled,_  in that way that made him feel safe and appreciated, and always invited him to eat with her…

Everything certainly would have continued on that path, if it wasn't for the  _Catholic Church._

As old empires fell in Europe, they were left with so many young Nations, all easily influenced, none strong enough to defy too many humans at once, and in that state, they were coerced into hiding as religious leaders spurred the masses into turning their backs on them, suppressing dissent and erasing history.

There was only one god, after all. Nations were not gods and were forced to step down from that pedestal.

The burning of Alexandria's Library only cemented that cause, erasing incredible amounts of crucial information…

That in Europe, of course. Others to the East took different paths. Middle Eastern Nations were  _always_  servants, only for great leaders to see and order, never above humans, and Asian Nations were much less extravagant with their presence, acting out as if they were nature itself and never establishing a known or static identity.

Scotland didn't actually know a whole lot about African Nations, or the ones that existed in the New World. He's never really talked to them, mostly because by the time he had the chance to go to the New World and try to raise a little Colony-Nation of his own like everyone else…

It didn't really end well.

The first time he met a Child-Nation was when Portugal visited England while Scotland was present during the 1500's. They were having a bit of an  _argument_  over Mary's fate. Portugal, being England's oldest friend, dropped by rather unexpectedly, and he had a tiny one with him.

The only thing Scotland could think of was 'I want one'.

Human children tended to have parents to nurture them. He always thought this was a solely human privilege. Nations usually didn't have anyone, and his mother wasn't around a lot…

She was raised alone as well. Maybe she thought it was completely normal… Either way, he  _dreamed_  of raising one of his own, give them all that he didn't have. To tell them stories, teach them things, to comfort them and to see them grow.

But… Scotland was left with no children and no money, forced to turn to his little brother for support and shackled to a kingdom for his troubles.

Which was why England  _always_  did the talking, too… while Scotland watched from the sidelines, because his government wasn't truly sovereign anymore. All because he sought to have a child and  _failed_ rather brilliantly…

All while England enjoyed the happiness of raising one of his own, often bragging to Scotland and knowing full-well it would hurt…

England had noticed his animosity, of course, and didn't want him interacting with politicians, so with little else to do, Scotland took out his frustration on the only English Men he could beat up or persecute legally, through the police force and later on, Scotland Yard.

Its name was a bit of a coincidence caused by humans, and it stuck rather easily…

He blinked the thoughts away and turned to Cailean, who was observing the area and the event while writing everything down, because Scotland absolutely refused to let him use a  _smartphone_  to write things down.

It was better for the brain to process when he had to directly use his motor skills to write. The kid always took everything he said seriously, might as well take advantage of that. Write all the details, learn how to read the environment and the people inside, find all the information as quickly as possible. It's the mark of a good detective. Nodding lightly, he pulled out his own phone, because he had nothing to do and listening to his brother's perpetual and natural smugness was a no-go.

Instead, he went to what he considered to be one of the worst things humanity has ever invented.

Twitter.

Or what Ireland usually called a 'bubble factory', where all the younglings had their comfortable little bubble with comfortable opinions they already agree with. Under the hashtag  _UKNation,_ the chatter about the live event was endless. Scotland couldn't help but roll his eyes. There was more than one Nation under the UK banner…

_'This guy sounds so posh!'_

Bloody damn right he does.

_'Sounds very calm for a guy whos been under state-secrecy for centuries.'_

_'It looks like he's thinking 'everyone here is stupid I wanna go home'.'_

_'Who was that redhead smoking?'_

Scotland smirked to himself before scrolling back to open the new 100 tweets that spawned since the last few seconds.

_'So that's the face of the patriarchy. Good to know what the target looks like'_

_'If he's lived so long, then he must have been a slave trader. Sick.'_

_'Slaves were a thing for thousands of years. Of course he traded at some point. Dont see the_ _point in accusing him of racism_   _.'_

 _'Everyone was in on this shit, I don_   _t_   _trust anything anymore. Fuck_ _u_   _'_

Who's to say you couldn't sum up what these kids thought with only 140 characters?

_'Church is to blame, not surprised.'_

_'But of course he's white.'_

Why wouldn't he be…?

_'I wonder how much of a racist he is, considering he's owned slaves before?'_

_'Doesn't do anything to help with the gender pay gap, does he? Everyday sexism reaches a whole new level.'_

_'I think I like this guy. All the feminists are raging like crazy and that's okay in my book'._

_'The face of England – kinda short and for some reason I'm not surprised. Really handsome tho.'_

_'This guy has some magnificent eyebrows.'_

That meant Scotland's were magnificent as well.

_'Not sure if I should believe a word he says…'_

_'According to my Nation, this guy was/is an abusive &drunk father. Cheers from Australia.'_

Ouch… Scotland actually remembers those times. The poor kid was always scared of punishment, specifically, of being locked in a tiny, dark room as it often happened… No wonder he hates being stuck inside for too long.

The memory made his lip curl in annoyance. England was such a horrible father to these kids sometimes… It didn't feel fair that he even got the chance. But  _Iggy_  usually got what he wanted in the end, didn't he?

Still… At least many people seemed to be accepting the relation between humans and Nations, using 'my' to refer to them. That was a good step.

"Ahem,  _excuse_  me."

Scotland looked up from his phone, seeing a raised hand in the front of the small crowd of journalists and reporters. It was a young lady with dyed strands of hair tied in a ponytail.

England raised an eyebrow at her, tilting his head a bit. "A millennial." Was all he said, as if that summed up his thoughts.

"Of  _course_  I am." She sneered and stood tall and proud, with the look of someone on a  _mission._  Which wasn't all that impressive when she herself wasn't that tall. England seemed to find this amusing. "I would like to ask a question to you,  _England_." She nearly spat the name.

Scotland took a quick look at his phone.

' _Feminist alert at Buckingham Palace._ _God save the_ _Queen &Nation…'_

_'How the flying fuck did this chick get in there? No way they let someone with no credentials in'_

' _Finally someone who will ask real questions. You go girl!'_

"By all means, ask away." England said, standing taller than usual. By his posture, he was expecting a confrontation, which meant he was picking up  _hostility_  from the girl. England just seemed somewhat curious, though.

The girl stood straighter with her nose up as well, as if trying to look down on the Nation, despite the fact that he stood on higher ground. "I would like to ask," Her tone was somewhat derisive, but hidden well enough for a basic socialization. "if you feel no  _shame_  for profiting from such a vile crime as  _slavery_ , of how much you have oppressed the Africans when you took them as slaves. You look really proud of yourself, when you have  _no_  right to be."

England tilted his head further, now with a small smile. "Tut tut, someone didn't study history… You talk as if I invaded Africa and simply 'took' all the  _innocent_  Africans who were living  _peacefully_  before the 'big bad Europeans' came around."

England sounded beyond amused. Scotland knew his little brother. He loved to argue, and he loved to  _crush_  people with words. Everyone in the room seemed to drinking every word that came out of his mouth before turning to the young lady to hear her response with rapid attention.

She scoffed and scowled. "It was what happened. You and all the white supremacists who ruled Europe are responsible for  _centuries_  of oppression, and they're still being oppressed! By you lot!

Humans just love to pluck wrongs from history, to present it out of context, just to make moral judgments against it, never bothering to understand what was  _actually_  happening…

England's expression seemed to subtly shift into something more cunning. "So you're saying  _we_  are responsible for slavery?" He provoked.

"Yes!" She seemed to blurt out without thinking, and even Scotland raised an eyebrow. "Well, I mean-" She tried detracting, but it was too late.

England scoffed and turned to his Queen. "What are they teaching kids these days, honestly…" She shrugged in understanding and he turned back to the girl, taking a step forward and slowly descending the small set of stairs. "First and foremost, when I got to Africa, they weren't living peacefully in  _huts._  The slave markets were already  _thriving,_  both on the west and east coast. In the west, it was not for business, but for  _status,_ amongst  _themselves,_  no European in sight. The African Nations I met simply let their own people be sold, which quite frankly, was appalling to  _us_ , European Nations."

The girl backed away from him.

"And nevermind that the Arabs were there  _long_  before us, making  _huge_  profits in Subsaharan Africa. But obviously, you didn't know that, because the  _Europeans_  are the villains, hm?"

The girl seemed to stop and think for a second, her face angry as she glared, then she got something and her brows rose as she smiled defiantly. "If  _that's_  true, then why don't we see any black people in the Middle East?" She looked like she had found her check-mate.

"Simple, lass. The Arabs  _castrated_  their slaves." England turned away from her to pace, knowing he had everyone's attention. "Honestly, the Nations of Arabia loved to brag about the millions they took and all the wealth they made. I personally always found it distasteful, but it didn't matter. Slavery was ubiquitous, no matter where on Earth you traveled, you found slaves." He turned back to her and everyone else, his casual tone turned a bit harsher. "In Europe, in China, in the Middle East, in the New World, in India, in Scandinavia, in Africa. Slavery was as common an institution as animal husbandry. The only difference between them and us, is the efficiency of transport, because we had technology which the rest of the world didn't have."

"B-But you were much more cruel! The Transatlantic Trade was hell on Earth for those people! The millions you  _bought!"_  And she was back on her swing again.

"Yes, with conditions so ungraceful and disgusting, it's why the high mortality rate never surprised me. But that was the consequence of humans dehumanizing each other, wasn't it? To them, they were simply part of the economy, couldn't be ignored by Nations."

"You certainly didn't care about the well being of those poor people-!"

"Humans, in their overwhelming majority across the world didn't care, love, and that's the point. We grew up with it, and why would anyone care to oppose it, it was such a profitable market. And who was making most of that money, hm?"

"You, of-!"

"African suppliers, of course! They're the ones who caught the majority of slaves sold to us and they were willing to do  _anything_  to keep that going. African Nations, easily letting their own people be sold for money! It was indeed horrifying, but competition with other Nations who would gladly try to crush me if given the chance forced my hand. There was no way to live as a Nation back then if you weren't ready to do that."

It seemed England got her to stare silently, as if she had no arguments left. Maybe she'd thought England would have no answer or rebuttal to her attempt to make him feel guilty and ashamed. Now she didn't know what to do.

But England… was one of the few Nations who couldn't be attacked with this particular topic.

"So, I ask you again, what did you learn in history class…?" England approached her again, this time stopping a few meters away and standing with a calm posture. "Nothing, it seems, otherwise you would have known that during the time you're referring to, the moment a slave set foot on British soil, they would be  _free_." England dismissed her confusion and turned away. "Ever heard of William the Conqueror?  _French_ , but reasonable enough," That drew a few laughs. "and I was tiny back then, around this height,"

Around the size of a toddler, as England has always been  _exceptionally_  tiny when young.

"I was, for 60 years or so, the slave of another Nation, a  _Viking_  Nation," That made people gape lightly in surprise. "who's still alive in Denmark, by the way – I was a slave along with a brother of mine who's now in Ireland, so I grew an extreme distaste for the whole idea, and when I was free, I attempted many times to convince my monarchs to outlaw it, before I finally convinced William to sign a law that prohibited the sales of slaves in our country, and within a generation in the 1080's, slavery had almost died out here. I also convinced the church to denounce it later on, and that made us a  _very_  unique country, which you and many others fail to appreciate these days."

' _Burn.'_ Scotland quickly read on his phone with a hashtag for 'British Pride', which made him scoff in amusement.

Someone raised a hand, hesitant and slow. England turned to him. "I… read through the history of that time, the law created by William the Conqueror provided him with money through fines, so what is it that you did?" It was a genuinely curious person with a good question.

The girl from before stood fuming on the spot, furiously trying to come up with something to say, one could see her mumbling to herself as she worked through that task.

"Ah, yes, that. Clearly, asking people like William to have  _sympathy_  for his fellow men, slaves at that, wasn't working at all, it never worked with anyone before him, so I had to change tactics, you see? Instead of appealing to their humanity, I appealed to their  _greed._  So I proposed a way to make money, which  _just so happened_  to outlaw slavery, and William was on board that easily. He was a bit lazy like that."

It seemed like England had enraptured them in history like a brilliant teacher and it was difficult for the Queen and prince to hide their smugness. Any leader enjoyed seeing their Nation excelling at something. And England simply tended to exceed everyone's expectations…

"Fast-froward 700 years, and we  _still_  have no slaves here. I actively helped Granville Sharp, a very enlightened gentleman, a good friend, with his campaign for the abolition of the slave trade worldwide, nevermind what the rest of the world wanted, what did  _they_  knew, anyway? The savages."

It drew more laughs, the people soaking in the pride that England emanated, like children with shining eyes, looking up to a parent.

Scotland remembers how England stood on a pedestal and looked down on  _all_  around him, confident that he was better, that the air of his land was too  _pure_  for any slave to breathe. He was  _righteous._

It was one of England's oldest personal principles, which spread to his people like a religion.

"I also taught my son, and all other subsequent children I had, to never have slaves of their own. I taught them that one day, humanity would rise above this and that they should be on board with that at the first chance they got, whenever that turned out to be. With the Enlightenment Era, it felt like the perfect time for that and I campaigned in parliament for 20 years with many of my citizens before we finally had success in 1807-"

That was during the Fourth Coalition, if Scotland remembers it correctly, a time when France followed Napoleon and acted on his worst behavior, having seemingly lost all decorum and sense of honor because of his brutal revolution - he still remembers how it was like to fight France in that state, unpredictable and chaotic.

Meanwhile, England never budged on his stance. Instead of losing sight of his objective to fight France  _blindly_  as he used to, England held tightly to his mission. France was  _second_ to that.

"But it was one thing to simply declare that no one would be profiting from the trading of human beings, it was another thing entirely to  _enforce_  that to the world."

Which is why England had created the West Coast of Africa Stallion as soon as the war was over, because his little brother  _never_  missed the chance to jump on a ship. He operated like that, going back and forth for 50 years as reports of his campaign reached his people and turned into a source of national pride, making England glow even more with power and confidence as he stood above all with an empire even larger than Rome's.

It was both aweinspiring and terrifying.

"Not everyone behind this had humanitarian reasons, of course, humans don't need Nations to be greedy or selfish, and I wasn't called a  _pirate_  just because I was a privateer back in the 1500's. It was my noblest goal, yes, but I had no qualms with using our campaign to beat my opponents, particularly, Spain and Portugal who just  _refused_ to listen-"

'Noblest goal' indeed. The mission became England's most adored project, of enforcing his vision across the globe, and his people certainly  _felt_  it. They held to it with evangelical zealous, even.

Scotland looked over at Cailean. He had stopped writing and now listened, enraptured by England's words like anyone else. It wasn't that the people there were English and therefore, prone to liking and listening to their Nation.

England was just that good with speeches… One could feel the passion and feel like this is what an empire sounded like, even though England no longer had one. The experience one gained as an empire would mark a Nation forever, in posture and speech.

"And yes, I have done things that I regret, things that nowadays are unacceptable, as any Nation has, but you will not stain my history with your deluded lies. I had pursued this goal against vested financial interests of hundreds of thousands of people and of many Nations who wanted my head for it. The very notion was  _alien_  to all of them until  _we_  made it happen."

All that pride seemed to be growing back, with a  _light_  in England's eyes, something that he had apparently lost after the fall of his empire.

"In the 19th century, if you saw a ship bearing down on you, flying  _this_  flag," He pointed behind him, where the Union Jack was displayed. "and you were a slave trader, you knew that this flag stood for  _liberty_ , it was the flag of a country that defied  _human convention_  for a point of  _principle._  I'd spent blood, sweat, tears, and  _treasure_ to enforce it on the world. It's the flag of a Nation and people who accepted the absolute moral truth that slavery is wrong, no matter what riches can be amassed, no matter what power one could gain, no matter the  _cost._  It was our crusade and when we held the reigns of world power, that is what we  _did_  with it."

People stood from their seats with bright looks of amazement and admiration and claps resounded all around the room. England always had a near toxic aura of  _pride_. Scotland had always found it abrasive… But humans  _love_  to be in the presence of a proud Nation.

It seemed to fill them with all that they wanted to have. A purpose, a home, a caretaker, a protector, so therefore,  _happiness_.

"…Whoa…" Cailean mumbled in awe. "Your brother is… just  _amazing,_  sir…" His eyes were bright and wide.

Scotland hoped he wasn't in love or anything… But indeed, England was often… amazing… "Aye, he is." His eyes narrowed as he took a long drag off his cigarette.

"So… when people want to point out that… we have streets named after slave owners, or that we profited from a vile crime and feel no shame, I simply have to concur that they haven't learned British history, because our involvement in the trade was one of the proudest moments any Nations could have asked for, and for you, love…" Amidst all the pride and smiles, the only one who stood with wide eyes and speechless was the young millennial. "You live in a world without slavery  _because_  of the UK and I. Now… Any other  _questions?"_

No words from her, but her shoulders did twitch as if she'd just crashed back into reality. She shook her head cautiously and sat down.

"No? Then I think I'm done for the day." As the crowd snapped out of their trance, they moved into action to ask more questions, all on top of the other, while England ignored them, turning to his Queen instead.

She seemed pleased as he helped her stand, and they, along with Charles, leisurely walked away, two royal guards following right behind.

" _Well, I haven't felt this good in decades."_

" _You were arguing with a child…"_

" _Technically, I was arguing with everyone who thought I was a bloody slaver- if they were watching this on the telly, of course."_

" _That's not-"_

" _Stop bickering, you two. Are you staying for dinner, Arthur?"_

" _Of course, my Queen."_

Scotland sighed and scooted away from the wall he was leaning on. Maybe he needed to leave before a reporter tried to talk to him. He already checked on his brother, already warned him, and stayed in case  _something_  happened.

Now… he should go find Wales, make sure he wasn't dead yet…

However, someone broke through the other reporters, hand raised as he called his little brother. "I-I'm sorry, but could you please say whether you're Pro-Leave or Pro-Remain?!"

Oh…  _That_  thing…

England stopped, his foot tapping as he looked up in thought, as if considering the question. "Right now…" He started, then turned to face them with a deadpan. "I'm leaning towards  _Leave_. Ta." He waved and left after his royals, who didn't look quite pleased with his answer, but didn't look quite mad either.

The cigarette fell from his gaping mouth as his mind processed. "…What." Cailean slowly wrote it down, his eyes wide.

The silence lasted for several seconds before loud chatter broke out. Scotland stood very still for a few more seconds before he ran after England, his speed startling Cailean, anyone looking, and even the guards. He didn't care. That brat had some explanations to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More context and information in the original News Feed entry on FF.net.


	21. The Energy of Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usual warnings apply. Reader discretion is advised.

**Stockholm (UTC +2) 4:49 p.m.**

_"No, he's not participating in the political process of our government- He doesn't find it necessary-"_

_"But why is he nowhere to be seen? We've been told the Nation of Sweden is a 'he', but that's all we got-"_

_"Yes, well, he understands that he's done wrong throughout his life and wishes to repent for that by being helpful to all of us. He finds it better to let us govern our country without interference while he… stays away from our immigrant population, for their safety."_

_"Misteren statsminister, could you be clearer on that?"_

_"Ah, excuse me for that… Nations are very…"_ A pregnant pause. _"…tribalistic beings… They instinctually dislike people who look different… Our Nation, as progressive as he is, understands that very clearly. He's come a long way from what he used to be, but he understands his own limits-"_

The TV was turned off suddenly, controller left aside in favor of his warm tea. Sweden rarely turns on the device these days, but he figured that with his leader finally talking about him to the Press, after a few weeks of reluctant silence, it would be worth checking.

He should have figured they would act like he was cooperating so voluntarily. Soon enough, they would be putting words in his mouth.

It's not like he was allowed to refute their claims. Not even his powerless royalty was allowed to defend him.

He scoffed quietly to himself, drinking his tea. It was abhorrently sweet, mixed with several spoons of sugar. He's been feeling like he needs the extra energy, although sugar and calories were feeble providers. His politicians, in general, didn't seem to care about his cases of exhaustion. In fact, they never bothered to listen at all these days.

With his exhaustion, he also felt  _emptiness._  When his government was openly careless and utterly devoid of affection for him, emptiness was all he could feel.

Something about his government shutting him off was… particularly  _hurtful_ , even though a few centuries ago he wouldn't be all that concerned about it. For most of his life, he certainly wouldn't have cared about what humans thought of him.

Sweden leaned back on the couch, sighing and watching his surroundings with a dull stare, as he had nothing better to do now other than attempting to ignore the civic emotions of all the people watching the broadcast all across his country.

It was a plain sense of  _understanding_ , as if they were agreeing with what was being said, mixed with some anger he couldn't quite understand. Too many of his people listened too much to the media. Sweden wasn't exactly a fan of that.

A noise rang through the silence. He narrowed his eyes and looked to the seat beside him, where he'd left his phone, just used for emergencies, so it wasn't used often. He'd left it there a few days ago and hasn't touched it since.

 _'Fin',_ it displayed brightly on the screen. Sweden certainly wouldn't touch it now.

He shook his head and ignored it, glancing to the other side, at a small pot with a plant on the nightstand beside the couch. Spring had barely arrived, but the poor flower never had the chance to bloom in the warmth of his house.

It was dead long before that.

After a second of pity for it, he stood and turned to it. One of its withered petals fell pathetically as the phone stopped ringing. Sweden frowned. It's not that he didn't water it, he did.

It just died…

It really wasn't the first time… He left the tea cup beside it, leaning down to look closer at the dead plant. Maybe he was just sucking the life out of everything now… Strange…

As he mourned pointlessly over something that has happened countless times now, he heard the sound of a motor running outside, approaching at a steady pace. He stared solidly at the door, waiting. It stopped close to the front of his house after a few seconds, the light shining through the window as tires screeched to a halt brusquely.

Sweden bowed his head and sighed tiredly, knowing the presence already. He picked the flower pot and took it further into the house, not wanting to give this person another reason to see faults in his existence.

By the time he was back, he could already hear high-heels over the thin layer of sparse snow outside. It should have melted by now, but it was being very stubborn this year…

The door opened as Sweden sat down, crossing his arms. His  _favorite_  liaison-agent stood at the door. The president of the agency responsible for keeping him a secret, no matter what he did.

Åsa, probably soon-to-be unemployed now, stood there. She's always been catty, to him specifically, so he expected her to be worse now that her job was on the line.

"There you are." She muttered, closing the door loudly. "Okay, it took me a while, but I managed it." She placed her hands on her hips, a satisfied and smug expression on her face.

Sweden raised an eyebrow unimpressively. Saved her job, somehow? He couldn't say he was excited.

"Here's how this is going to work." She walked forward. "Since keeping you out of the public eye is not  _exactly_  an option anymore, our agency is  _now_  responsible for keeping you from doing anything… problematic." She gestured in his general direction.

As if he were  _entirely_  'problematic'.

"You haven't been around the Swedish Democrats, have you?" Her tone became pointed, suspicious. "Have you talked to them? Told them anything?"

Sweden wanted to roll his eyes, but just shook his head. It was better to just go along with her, then she would leave sooner. He had a limited patience with this woman. Her words got on his nerves in a way he wanted to avoid. Naturally, because he wanted to avoid pain.

"Good. You're not allowed near them, first of all." She pointed at him as she warned with narrowed eyes. "You're  _also_  staying away from the media. You're in a… retirement, vacation, whatever fits. We'll cook something up. We don't want them asking why you're not speaking or anything. We can't just pretend you're mute as if that wouldn't raise questions."

Sweden scowled lightly, looking away.

"Don't make that face." Åsa spat, pointing at him. "You know  _exactly_  why you're being punished. This is your own fault… you savage." The last word came out as a quiet angry murmur, as if she didn't quite want him to hear it.

She took an extra step back, but relaxed when he didn't move. It was a cold animosity that crept up his spine and just left him feeling emptier.

"Honestly, I recommend you don't leave this house at all."

Maybe that would be for the better… No one would bother him and Åsa would have no reason to visit. She has been around him for a few years now but always kept a physical distance. Her emotions, though…

There was the coldness she shared with her emotions, always, constantly around her whenever they're in the same room. And her words, always disguised, always something subtle and dark that lodged itself in his mind whether he liked it or not. If anything was his fault, she liked to hammer that point in. If something wasn't his fault, she liked to twist the narrative so it  _would_  be.

"There's no reason to make a fuss." Åsa leaned down, hands on her knees so she could be closer to his level. Her tone was softer. "We both know you're a horrible person, Sverige. You should be in  _jail_  with all the other murderers for what you  _did,_  but you're privileged. You know you have to make up for that, as well as for everything you've done in the past… You can't just take what you want and not give anything back, right?"

She liked to hang this sort of guilt over his head. He's heard it over and over, he's done horrible things and he needed to pay back, and after hearing it so much from his leaders and so many of his people, he couldn't help but quietly agree that he needed to do something about it. He  _hated_  it, though. Hated that he felt the need to do something, and hated that he hated it, too.

So he nodded slowly, not looking at her.

It's been years of this narrative – he's done terrible things in the past and now he needed to atone for that, growing steadily pushier with their demands of what he should do to redeem himself –  _accept all these refugees, let's take care of them, forgive their misconducts, they're just confused, they'll settle soon, give them time_  – and they seemed to genuinely believe that he was supposed to be feeling  _guilty_ for hesitating.

That just made him a…  _horrible person,_  apparently…

Åsa nodded in confirmation. "I'm sure you'll learn to accept this responsibility one day. I guess we can't expect a centuries-old barbaric mindset to simply disappear, but you'll work hard to make up for what you've done, and you'll learn to love  _all_  these new immigrants as if they were your own, because now they are, you'll accept diversity and be… a better Nation for this country."

Her smile was placid and yet somewhat sickening to him. He turned just enough to look at her, sneering unconsciously at the disingenuous vibes he was receiving. His politicians seemed to believe this narrative, but with Åsa… Something in his gut told him she didn't mean him any good.

This made her narrow her eyes, her lip curled. To him, she seemed to move slowly, if only because this has happened many times before, with her arm raising aggressively. A hand hit his face with a loud slap.

He let her, if he fought back, she would be accusing him of attacking first.

She sneered back as he nursed the faint sting on his cheek. "You're still so full of hatred for anyone who looks even  _remotely_  different, aren't you? I knew you were like this the moment I met you…" She hissed. "Your views are inhumane and outdated. You're going to have to change and you have no other choice. Just…  _accept_  it."

These words stung more than a feeble slap ever would. Sweden opened his mouth to hiss back on reflex, but words seemed to be stuck. He huffed, fists clenching.

She scoffed. "Statsminister's orders. You're not speaking until we say so." Åsa stood straight, arms crossed as she gave him a condescending smirk. His leader's orders were absolute and she knew that. He'd accepted this condition long ago and there wasn't much he could do anymore.

_Do not speak._

A direct order he found himself unable to break. Sweden's shoulders slumped.

_"You cannot speak…?"_

_His Prime Minister wondered as Sweden's hand hovered over his throat, panic showing past his usual stoicism rather easily._

_The man raised an eyebrow. "Well… I… didn't know I had this power over you… But it works. You know you need a punishment, Sverige. You've killed people…"_

"Are you listening?" Åsa's grating voice broke through the memory and he looked up. "I'm  _sorry_  I have to keep reminding you, but you know you did wrong, you know you're a horrible being- You know _, deep_   _down_ , that you deserve this and that's why you're obeying, right?"

No… It certainly wasn't.

Sweden's shoulders tensed as he looked away again. He wasn't cooperating to be treated like  _this._  It was to be a good Nation, to  _help_  people. To be treated well and to be loved by his people for being good. Not  _this._

He didn't want to listen to Åsa anymore. He has his limits, her animosity was unbearable for him to handle for this long. It never took him long to feel like he just didn't have the energy for it, and recently, he's been feeling more  _frustrated_  than exhausted when dealing with it.

He just wanted her to  _leave_.

"So you're doing as you're told, you know where you're not allowed to go. You're not going anywhere near the Far-Right scum, or the Press, or the people, or any innocent immigrant for that matter. You've hurt them  _enough_  at this point." She repeated methodically, as if talking to a child.

_'Just leave.'_

His brows furrowed in annoyance, but a hand grasped his chin and turned his face to her in a rare willingness to touch him. Sweden held back a sneer. Her touches were never friendly or pleasant.

"Are we clear here?"

He gritted his teeth behind thinned lips, but with no other choice, he nodded, lowering his head once she let go and slowly counting to ten in a meager attempt to keep his calm.

 _Ten, nine…_  Sometimes he wished he could actually hurt her…

"Good. Then we're done here." She backed away with a satisfied smile. "Remember the rules from now on. No Nazi Party, no media, and no hurting immigrants- like an  _animal;_  in fact, I highly recommend you stay out of sight until further notice."

 _Eight, seven, six…_  It was justifiable, right? Some people deserved it…

"I'm leaving, okay? Just keep what I told you in mind." She said from the door.

 _Five, four…_  He nodded.

Åsa narrowed her eyes, but didn't question him further.

_Three, two…_

The door was slammed shut.

Sweden let out a drawn out breath, taking his glasses off to rub his eyes as he leaned back on the couch. He waited until she drove away for a minute before he finally allowed himself to relax.

* * *

Why does he let them treat him this way…? He thought as he walked, dully staring straight ahead, the road on the outskirts that led him back to town was quiet.

He didn't know what he was doing half the time these days, like something was off in his mind, so maybe there was a logical reason there… These thoughts floated around his head for hours.

After his frustration with Åsa ran its course, he forced himself to sleep for more than  _20 hours._  He woke up feeling just a little bit better and less irritated, but remembered there was nothing to do at home. He didn't want to watch the news, or anything else for the matter. He wasn't about to pick up the phone and he had no government paperwork anymore. These were just hours of  _nothing_  and the emptiness was back in full force, making even simple tasks seem like too much of a hassle.

He drank tea and stared at the walls for hours before he found himself thinking that,  _maybe,_  waiting for nothing was useless after all.

He wanted to take a walk, breathe some fresh air. Or just… look at his people, try to get a sense of how they were feeling this day. The civic emotions weren't as noticeable as the day before, things were just a little too quiet at home that day.

Some days were better than others. Some were just worse.

So he'd put something with a hood under a long jacket in a useless attempt to stay warm and inconspicuous, and left just after the sun set, despite explicit implications that the liaison agency didn't want him outside  _at all._

Sweden didn't want to be reprimanded, but he often disobeyed them anyway. It's why he got into trouble to begin with. Wandering around where he shouldn't…

He walked out of the outskirts he lived in and wandered somewhat aimlessly into his city, catching the general feel of the atmosphere around him. Doubt and confusion were persistent, as was  _curiosity and wonder._  People, the ones who weren't busy walking home after a long workday, were outside with friends, discussing recent developments ad nauseam. It was a mix of old and young people arguing or talking over coffee as he passed by some small shops and cafes.

Which was new. Many of his young didn't often care about him or his country.

 _"It's a man, though… I'm not really surprised; we've been through a lot of wars. Bet he was a Viking."_ One woman said with her eyes on her phone.

 _"I find it nice that he's trying, at least. I mean, why would he accept letting so many refugees in if he wasn't? I think he's very Progressive, even if he is naturally tribalistic."_ A small young man said as he adjusted his large glasses.

 _"I wonder if his appearance reflects the diversity we want to show the world… I kinda feel like that's not the case. We still have way too many supremacists and racists around here. Did you see how many votes the SDs are getting…?"_ A teenage girl said over her latte with an annoyed tone.

These weren't words he wanted to hear. He knew many of his people weren't… quite  _loving_  to what he represented. Weren't proud of being his, weren't happy with their history. Especially the young. Especially the women.

His politicians often said it was because he had nothing to offer, he wasn't a good person and it didn't reflect well on the country, he didn't have any culture to show the world… Bringing  _these_  people from the outside would supposedly solve that.

Now he had a youth that doesn't look up to him at all, or in fact, feels ashamed of him or doesn't believe in him at all… Judging from what he felt on a daily basis, he wanted to say it wasn't  _healthy…_

But he knew  _nationalism_  was poisonous, he knew what it did to his kind. He watched Germany go insane and destroy Europe because of it. So if people went in the complete opposite direction…

He stopped and stared down at the canal that cut through his city, watching his reflection. It would be good for him, right? He would be free from its influence. His mind would never be poisoned.

…Sweden just felt  _empty,_ though.

But this was good to humans, right? It was the exact opposite of what led to the horrors of the Great Wars, so…  _logically_ , this  _had_  to be the best option. He'd never quite cared about the humans within his territory, always worried more about himself and what felt good to  _him._  So now it was time to let humans do what was best for  _them_  instead… No matter how it made  _him_  feel.

He couldn't bring himself to believe his own thoughts, though, Åsa's words were all that he could hear ringing in his ears.

_"You are a horrible person…"_

He crossed his arms, feeling a chill as he turned away and continued walking. It was getting colder as the night fell. He walked through a road that led him into the inner part of the city, and soon enough, he found himself close to an area he wasn't supposed to be.

A No-Go Zone.

He stopped at a certain road, looking on at the darkened street. No one in sight, just one lone light further down the road, the establishments with their doors and gates closed and occasionally  _tagged_  with paint.

The area felt strangely empty to his senses. But he knew it was far from empty… His police officers were sometimes called here on purpose, only to get rocks thrown at them… Their establishments were shot with handguns as well, as if someone was attempting to purge the authority figures. They aren't content with Swedish society, and his authority forces represented his society to them.

In the back of his mind, he could only hiss _'ungrateful animals',_  making him wallow in shame soon after.

He couldn't think this sort of thing… But he couldn't avoid it any longer. Frustration just seemed to built up as the years went by.

Last time he walked into these areas, he was threatened and forced to leave by dark-skinned men wearing masks, while his police just didn't dare raise a finger against them when Sweden reported the issue. They were gang members, they sold drugs and stole other's proprieties, attacked officers and burned his flag openly sometimes.

Nothing could be done.

They formed their morality police as well, going out and spitting on girls and mocking them for not dressing accordingly. Few women were outdoors at night in these areas, when once it was safe for them to go out whenever they felt like it.

It made him angry at  _everyone_  involved, including himself.

Sweden hid his hands inside his pockets and hunched closer to himself as he walked slowly. A habit he adopted. His politicians said he was too…  _intimidating_. Not exactly the image they wanted to pass to the world, so they often told him to not stand too straight.

 _'There's no reason to look too proud'_ they said.  _'You're not some kind of hero.'_

He sighed, agreeing with the memory. He certainly wasn't any kind of hero to his people. He walked straight forward, knowing he would hit the boundaries of the No-Go Zone soon. It was ordered by his leader that he would not be stepping foot in this area. There were places where not even his police was allowed in and now not even Sweden could check.

 _'If Åsa knew…'_  He found himself thinking again. He wondered what kind of accusations she could swing his way. He's already been called 'tribalistic' by his own government, painting him, and all Nations, as intolerant and sectarian.

Åsa in particular has always been hostile, he wasn't sure  _why._  She used to represent the Green Party a few years back, and even then he felt the tendrils of disdain coming from her. He could only assume she's accepted the job of Liaison Agent to keep an eye on him or maybe to find excuses to kick him out of Parliament.

Job well done, then…

His thoughts were brusquely interrupted by noises. Glass breaking and he stopped to pay attention. It was quiet and Sweden waited for a few seconds. Finally, he saw figures running out of a narrow alleyway and further inside the neighborhood. He narrowed his eyes and ran after them even if he knew it was useless.

He couldn't possibly catch them before-

Something in his brain forced him to stop and he dug his feet on the ground, already breathing heavily. He'd reached the line his leader marked on the map, unable to take another step, and looked at the direction they ran, gritting his teeth. They were gone, disappeared in the distance and darkness.

"Tch…" Sweden wanted to swear, he moved from side to side, as if he would somehow find an opening. He could walk around this whole perimeter and he still wouldn't be able to get inside.

Those people running, they didn't look that tall, maybe they were minors. If so, odds are they were dropouts from school. If  _not_  minors, then half of the time they tended to be unemployed. Not working or studying… Last time he communicated his dissatisfaction with them receiving his people's money while not giving anything back, his politicians flipped out as if he'd said something outrageous.

 _'Not mine.'_ is all he could think off, and part of him felt like shit for it. He was supposed to be the most welcoming of the Nordics… He's always been.

Frowning, he gave up on this endeavor and backed away, reluctantly going in another direction instead. The politicians and the liaison agency were the only humans he had contact with these days, none of them seemed willing to accept his limits.

He never minded immigrants, ever since the Great Wars he was more than willing to lend a helping hand to another Nation by accepting their people, but he couldn't take these many  _useless_  people who belonged to Nations he's never even met. He even had no more houses left to lend, his youngest couldn't even move out of their parents' homes!

New arrivals were being settled in military bases – what if an emergency happened…? – or in subways stations with tents – wasn't this inconveniencing his people? – it was straining his resources to the point where he had no energy to spare.

It didn't take long for his body to tire anymore.

Beyond that, with his police not allowed inside their neighborhoods, crime skyrocketed in those areas, something almost unheard of before this crisis. Too many of them didn't want to study or work, they were hurting his people everywhere, so  _why_  did he still accepted what his politicians and media and liaison agents told him?

Why did he feel like a monster for  _killing_  a few?

He had found them attacking one of his own.

Not just any  _one,_  but a  _young female_  one, the type Nations feel most protective of, naturally.

She was a human so  _young_  to him, she was practically a baby, being hurt right in front of him. What were  _15 years_  compared to his age, after all…? She whimpered for those men –  _not his, none of them_  – to stop, they had her mouth covered and she had no clothes and he couldn't keep himself  _calm_  enough to think that  _killing_  them wasn't the best option.

But instincts were triggered and logic was pushed aside.

His government was not happy. Åsa was furious. The  _order_  was given amongst the outraged and irate lecturing.

No generation of government has ever resorted to that with him. His voice was taken, he was then thrown out of his bigger home in Stockholm – which was undoubtedly given to another row of immigrants – and shoved into a small house on the outskirts of his capital and told to  _stay_  there, least they throw him in  _prison_  instead.

He disobeyed, of course.

The young girl he'd saved was put through a terrible ordeal right as the liaison agency did its job, going as far as using the media to defy her claims in an attempt to erase it from records. She had told the police what her attackers looked like – not Swedish and  _not his_  – and that was enough. Her claims were quickly discredited, a young 15-year old girl outed as a racist liar who wanted to frame some immigrants for a heinous crime.

The media loved the story and ran with it.

Sweden honestly doubted she would ever get justice, as the case was put behind harsh red-tape never seen before and became a topic of  _conspiracies_  online.

Åsa was ruthless at her job.

It wasn't something his young citizen deserved and he disobeyed his leader only to see how she was doing. She couldn't remember what he'd done, only that he'd been there and believed him when told he'd taken her to a hospital. He ended up visiting twice, last time being  _after_  the secret was exposed.

Her name was Karin.

Her voice was soft and  _tiny,_ almost airy, in a way. He really couldn't see anything but a child. Small, young humans, girls in particular… he was often afraid of even touching them. They were so small and fragile to him, and he had killed with his hands, murdered, ripped apart… Maybe his government and Åsa were getting to his head… He wasn't going to hurt her but part of him feared he would…

_"Ah, I knew it! To think my hero wasn't a common man, it's amazing!" She clapped her hands together, her eyes shining faintly when previously they were dull and tired._

She knew who he was, of course. The information was available anywhere. But the feeling she gave him with her emotions were  _warm…_  As if he'd been standing in the freezing rain, completely habituated and numb to its icy sting, only to be greeted with a shower of warm water.

It felt like… nationalism? Certainly not, Karin was just  _thanking_  him…

But while she seemed to be recuperating, it was still a fact that she wasn't being spared the online aggression.

_Karin bit her lower lip, shaking her head and shrugging. "I-I don't know what happened… Some people from my school just sent me messages, calling me all sorts of stuff," Her voice cracked a bit. "Like racist and just horrible things… I just told the cops what my attackers looked like…! That they attacked me and that they weren't speaking Swedish! My parents told me they were deported, but people are saying they are dead! I don't know-" She stopped and sniffed, rubbing tears off her eyes. Her shoulders shook. "I'm sorry, I just… Sorry…"_

_'Don't apologize…' He had told her mentally, frustrated with this limitation._

That was the crux of the problem…

Åsa was responsible for covering for him that night. He knows he killed people, he knows that was the worst possible way to deal with that situation, but the liaison was supposed to cover that anyway… And yet, there were people who knew those men were actually dead? There were such holes in the cover?

How could Åsa have been this sloppy and let such a thing happen…?

Sweden stared intently at nothing in particular as he walked, trying to work around this thought-process and memories.

That day, Karin's emotions were gripping at him like a needy child, crying and sobbing for comfort which he could not properly provide. He could only sit there and take it in, rubbing her shoulder in hopes that it would be enough.

_"But it's fine… I've been writing something, so people will understand. I think I'll be enough…"_

_She had smiled but it was only off-putting to Sweden._

_"…It's an open letter." It was an empty smile she gave him, he felt like it reflected him a little too much and made him back away. "They're right… I shouldn't have told the cops so much. I should have thought of the consequences. I… I feel really bad that some horrible people have been using what happened to me to discriminate- to attack the people we're lending refuge to… So…"_

_Suddenly, there was silence in his mind._

_"I'm apologizing."_

_He stared blankly at her flat smile._

_"I'm apologizing for making everyone's lives more difficult… that they can be attacked because of something they didn't do… that I'm making things difficult for you… I'm…" Karin stopped and looked at him firmly in the eye, and Sweden was incapable of looking away as his fists clenched. "I'm so, so proud of my country, of you, for going to such lengths to help people who are so much less privileged…!"_

_That warmth again… Except this time it burned rather uncomfortably…_

_Karin snaked her hands around him, hugging him, oblivious to the horror building up inside of him. "And… I'm proud that even with all of this, you're still such a good person…"_

_…Is he now…? He had such vile thoughts and complete satisfaction after committing the abominable act of killing humans_.

_"You don't let any of these horrible people sway you."_

_…Doesn't he now…? He's certainly letting his government and Åsa sway him. Aren't they horrible for letting Karin go through this in the first place…?_

_Sweden patted her head slowly as he stared blankly at the potted flower on the bedside table, watching as it slowly fell, quietly dying. He shook his head._

_No, he's definitely a horrible person…_

What was he doing…?

Why was he accepting this? Why did he feel so empty? Why did this mean to him and his people? To his country? Wasn't the opposite of nationalism a good thing?

Sweden stopped and forced himself to  _be_  somewhere else with a Hop, somewhere where he could think, and doing so seemed to deplete his reserves in one single swoop, so he sat down heavily on a roof, already beyond exhausted. This Hop didn't even take him too far. Barely a kilometer away, but the view was worthy enough, though.

He needed some time with his own thoughts…

Looking at the now dark sky, he couldn't see any stars, and he felt like he hadn't seen them in a long time. Maybe he would have gone camping, away from the cities, away from humans, but… beyond the fact that he wasn't allowed outside his capital, he already felt strained enough. He didn't want to stray too far from his source of life.

In the past, he'd easily understood that humans kept him alive. They provided him with energy to live, so long as they identified with his image. Of course, back then he had many images to reflect across what he considered his territory, so should people from one particular area abandon his image, he still had others to fall back on.

In this era, though… he had no backup. ' _Sweden'_ was the only image he had. His politicians, many of his people… all seemed insistent in changing to a different image, something so different that Sweden knew he couldn't adapt even if he tried.

His history, his culture, his image… were all being demeaned and erased. His citizens ignored in favor of  _outsiders._ Demographics and culture changing so suddenly and harshly weren't things he could adapt to.

He was  _Nordic_ , and he would always be Nordic. There was no changing that.

Wind blew on his face and he drew his knees closer to him. He knew it already. He used to have so much  _life-energy_  at his disposal, he was naturally accustomed to it, but now it felt like he was running on fumes. Drawing out of whatever source he could find without noticing.

Like suddenly giving up on caffeine after years of consumption.

Too many of his people didn't like his image anymore. His politicians didn't like his image either, just as much as they didn't quite like  _him_. They often told him he should simply accept a new image, ignoring the fact that  _this_ … is everything that defines his very being, it's in his blood and bones, his image is long established and welded itself into his skin.

He couldn't change this much, not like they wanted him to…!

He often found himself swinging between exhaustion, frustration, and a sickening  _anxiety_  for his future. They didn't focus on his people anymore, they gave lee-way to outsiders and sacrificed his own in favor of another's. His police wasn't even allowed to tell him what the people committing most of the crimes  _looked_  like. He wasn't even allowed basic statistics.

The support for his name was too low. If things kept going in this direction… He would just die and a child would take his place a decade later.

 _'Death is coming'_ the anxiety told him.

Sweden stretched his legs a bit, leaning forward as he clutched his head. He could not…  _accept_  it… Just thinking about it  _hurt_ …!

No Nation will ever accept death, it's not- It isn't feasible to even  _imagine_  it, it isn't processed, it  _cannot_  be processed. The very idea of oblivion and  _nothingness_  was alien to the point of being mere meaningless  _words_  a Nation cannot truly understand like humans did with their  _insignificant_  existence…! A Nation could live forever, death wasn't an acceptable inevitability.

Sweden exhaled and inhaled heavily in a meager attempt to calm his mind and body. But it was useless. This was the very first time he stopped to think about it and  _admitted_  this truth to himself, but maybe, he's known for years.

It was stark clear once he  _admitted_  this and his brain acknowledged it for the first time with a wave of  _panic,_ which he didn't remember  _ever_  suffering from.

He would  _die_.

It would be  _over_ , everything would be gone, nothing would be left, and he couldn't conceive or understand it, it just scared him in a way nothing has ever scared him…!

He's faced armies, he's faced the wrath of nature, he's faced torture and the horrors of humanity, all with a straight face.

But _this_  only dug a deeper hole within the emptiness left by all the life-energy he's lost. It made him want to weep in fear.

But he wouldn't, he couldn't let his emotions run wild, it never accomplished  _anything_ , not when he was a child and certainly not now, it was  _useless_. The human instincts weaved into his mind kicked in, his breathing speeding in tempo as if more oxygen would somehow provide him with enough energy to live, but it  _wouldn't!_ No food or water or air were enough, he needed-!

Humans.

Sweden stopped, his eyes widening a lot more than he's used to, and he looked up at the direction of the main station of his capital.

It was hot, like a growing fire, like something he hadn't felt in what could've been  _years._  He stood up effortlessly, not even swaying with dizziness at the sudden movement, and searched for the exact spot where this warm, empowering,  _protective_  feeling was coming from.

The more he focused, the more it felt like all of his nerves were back to functioning as they should, electric and hot, running at full speed. Finally, Sweden couldn't take it anymore and jumped down from the roof, four stores down, and hit the ground with minimal strain to his calves, and ran towards his objective.

He still couldn't Hop, it meant that it wasn't  _nearly_  enough to truly fill the void, but it seemingly came out of nowhere and his body was shocked into action nevertheless. It felt like a substantial amount of energy, and that's all he cared about.

Sweden exhaled heavily and pushed himself to run faster, taking hard turns into any shortcuts he could find, approaching a hot spot that reminded him of his past, when he was  _great_.

It showed how skewed his memory has become. He would never be truly great like he used to be, not like this, not with his people like  _this_ , weak and dependent, but he would take it.

He would take  _anything_  at this point.

Sweden finally arrived at the station, he saw people leaving, looking back with worried expressions, talking to each other as if something alarming was happening. But he could only feel the warm and strong allure of life inside.

So these people out here were the  _weak_ , the ones who rejected his image, not the ones he wanted to be near- Not the ones Sweden  _needed_.

So he ignored them and continued to run towards the plaza outside the open station, finally he was met with what he was looking for. He stopped as a mild fatigue caught up with him, but with the warm buzz in his nerves, he recovered quickly. He started walking towards what he could only describe as a mob of black-clad men with their faces hidden.

Sweden blinked, pulling his hood further down to blend in. They were talking loudly with each other, seemed energetic and with a bounce in their steps, but weren't breaking anything. Just walking around, with many congregating around one voice, a man with a loudspeaker to whom Sweden felt most attracted to.

In his daze, he didn't see a woman past him, she wasn't looking either, and bumped on him. Sweden was startled and looked at her, suddenly hit with a cold feeling of disdain as she continued walking away, glaring at the men.

"People on the other side of the world call the terrorists on MY streets 'Vikings'!" She proclaimed loudly, making Sweden flinch and back away. She didn't seem to notice, just continued to walk away with her nose in the air.

Just as soon as the resurged cold came, it was gone, replaced by the warmth from before, and he turned to the man as he spoke.

"-so forgive me if I don't believe their verdict on our Nation, forgive me if I don't believe a being such as this would be happily accepting the destruction of our once safe society! When our political leadership and police show more sympathy for  _murderers_  than for their  _victims_ , there are no longer any excuses to let it happen without protest! Listen when I say our government is once again hiding the truth from us!"

Sweden gaped lightly and stood stiff on the spot. Black-clad men cheered and the strong aura of protectiveness closed in like a warm blanket, and suddenly, he didn't feel as weak and vulnerable to the cruel claws of  _death_ around his throat.

"When Swedish streets are no longer safe to walk on for normal Swedes, it is our DUTY to fix the problem! This is why, today, we've gathered to take a stand against the criminal immigrants who are running rampage in and around our capital's central station!"

Åsa had forbidden him from coming to this place, since he wasn't allowed to leave the city… He'd forced himself to ignore the grown men wandering around his station, touching his women, scaring his children, robbing his people, while his government and police… did  _nothing_ , despite all the proof on camera… It was maddening.

But last time he was near this area…

"Police has clearly shown that they lack the means to stop their progress and we see no other way than to hand down the punishment they deserve ourselves!"

Last time, he'd found Karin… He'd saved her, but  _punishment_  was dealt to  _him_ instead.

"The justice system has walked out and the contract of society is therefore broken! It is now every Swedish man's duty to defend our public space against the imported criminality!"

Broken…? Sweden felt his shoulder slack as the words hit him. His contract with his government that held his tongue… was broken…?

"We're neither your politician, your journalist, or your policemen! We're your father, your brother, your husband, your colleague, your friend, and your neighbor! Swedish men and women  _deserve_  safety in their everyday life and we're therefore calling on  _all_  others who also see the problem to follow in our footsteps, both in Stockholm and in other places around the country. Enough now, I say!"

Loud and deafening cheers, jarring his senses in a way that made him feel like time was slowing down. A chill ran up his spine, sounds were echoing, and Sweden wanted to sit for a second, as if he were about to lose his balance.

It… felt  _really_  nice…

He just wanted to stand there and soak it in…

But something had to  _ruin_  it. Something  _invasive_  approached. Something he didn't like… Something he…  _hated_.

A threat…

Sweden looked at it slowly, his hands twitching and ready to attack.  _There_ …

The men he saw rounded the corner and were walking in their direction, talking, but stopped when spotting them.

Sweden could almost smell the fear that sprouted in their eyes when they realized their situation. Careless, how  _careless_ …

They didn't expect to find them there, did they…?

He focused on them, drawing old battle instincts out like he used to, influencing humans around him, who one by one turned in those invading presences. Sweden glared as silence fell.

The  _threats_ took cautious steps back, as if analyzing how they could escape, but they had walked close enough and there were more people behind them, few, but probably  _enough_.

The invaders were about to bolt, as no eyes left their position, and someone stopped behind one, ready to push, but when the invader turned, he was quick with his fist, and his citizen staggered back before falling on the ground.

This startled the rest of the ones circling the invaders. "Tch…" Sweden narrowed his eyes. They weren't soldiers… They were  _citizens_. Forced to take matters into their own hands when they  _shouldn't_  have.

But Sweden was their Nation. A Nation  ** _protects_**.

As the shock wore away, anger surged, the ones closest to the invaders got over their surprise and were about to attack back, the ones closest to Sweden were moving, the invaders looked back at them and were about to run and punch their way through if necessary.

Sweden has failed to protect them, he let his government push him around, he was told to stay away, to let  _them_  handle it, but they didn't handle  _anything…_

The contract was broken.

Another citizen was punched and Sweden moved, the surge of strength, the sheer will to protect overcame him just like with  _Karin_ … Like the wind, he reached them, sliding down just as he reached one who started to run and stood swiftly in front of him, just in time to raise his arm and hit the invader's face with a punch, his now above-average strength making the man fall back heavily, clutching his face and making loud annoying noises.

Sweden wasted no time and paid no attention to anyone, he grabbed the other who ran past him by the collar and threw him into his citizens, two who held the man and then pushed him down into the ground, and just as quickly, he kicked the frozen final one in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him and leaving him on the ground, gasping for air.

Sweden felt like there was a dark snake circling around his neck, whispering into his ear that this was okay, and it felt so good, so  _satisfying_ …! But the logical part of his mind kept pushing, this was  _wrong_ , this was not how he was supposed to solve his problems, he wasn't a Viking anymore- 'Wake up' His mind screamed.

But nothing reached him. Instincts took the wheel. 'They are a threat' his instincts screamed.

This state of mind infected his people, made them seek blood and let anger take over. Without a sound, he walked straight towards the downed men quietly,  _menacingly_ , his people with him noticing this quiet rage with wide eyes, with confusion, with wonder, and amazement, but he still had his hood on, they still didn't quite understand what was influencing them.

They willingly accepted his influence even if they didn't know it was there.

It only served to fuel his reserves, leaving Sweden with a stronger need to hurt, hurt,  _hurt the invaders_.

The one with the loudspeaker bends down, closer to one of them. "…We let you into our country, we lend you asylum, we show you  _kindness_  and  _hospitality,_  and you spit on our faces- You think we're  _idiots_ …?! Our government might be  _fucking_   _mental_ , but we're not!"

The one Sweden had punched was still whining on the ground, and he steps on his face, grinding as he screamed and as his people had their fun, circling them like wolves and hurling insults under their breaths, never too loud, they're still  _civilized._

All they needed was for Sweden to  _act_. Give a signal. Just hurt one now, and the others would be goners.

People like _these_  men were the ones making his life so  _difficult_ … They're the reason why  _everything_ , his  _history_ , his  _happiness_ , his  _well-being_  are being pushed aside and torn apart carelessly, and now that he was here, these thoughts just couldn't be ignored.

It burned like a raging fire, approached quietly and deadly. His citizens, being so close, were willingly soaking in his animosity. They pushed them, laughing as they pulled their clothes off, spat and pulled their hair, much like the invaders did to innocent Swedish women in this very station.

If his government wasn't going to punish  _criminals_ , if they wouldn't protect  _his_  people, then Sweden would have to do so instead. It was so obvious now, it was  _so_  easy now… Why didn't he think of it  _before…?_

His government and his weaker citizens held his tongue and emotions so tightly before, but now, surrounded by citizens who wanted to stand up and accept his image and give him strength, the contract was broken, they didn't recognize the government's order and Sweden felt  _free_  from its cold chains because of them.

He felt reinvigorated, he stood straight and proud, his size and gaze painted a terrifying figure as he took off his glasses off and kneeled in front of one to level him with a dark glare. He could feel a strange, alluring feeling in the back of his mind,  _confidence_.

The man backed away with wide eyes and Sweden grabbed him by the jaw. One of his buddies was pushed into the ground beside them, then pulled back up by the shirt collar as he tried to crawl away.

There was something approaching, he could hear it. The faint sound of the strained rails as a train rode its way towards them.

They didn't have too much time. The contract was broken, so therefore… Sweden inhaled slowly and opened his mouth. "Are you Swedish…?" He finally hissed, his baritone voice making the men try to inch away.

Men around them agreed quietly. _'Yes, yes, are you…?'_ They hissed like snakes.

The invader was  _scared._  Sweden knew why, and narrowed his eyes. He knew… nowadays, men weren't quite like they used to be… This invader was probably under the impression that Swedish men were all  _weak_  and was now way out of his comfort zone.

He thought they were weak, small, passive,  _tolerant,_  to the point of letting them touch their women and children without lifting a finger to stop them.

Well,  _no_   _more_ …

The train was approaching and would stop by them in less than 20 seconds…

The invader mumbled something in  _Arabic_ , and Sweden scowled, pushing his face into the ground, hard enough to leave him dazed and groaning for a few seconds. "Why are you here if you can't even speak Swedish…?"

_'Yes, indeed, why are you here…?'_

"You…" The invader began, eyes wide and angry and  _frightened_. "You… killed… brothers…" He spoke in broken Swedish.

Sweden tilted his head. The monsters who attacked little Karin… were this man's brothers? He scowled. "They were rapists." Sweden informed, as his citizens were  _good_   _people_ , they wouldn't like to be near someone who murdered others for no reason. "They raped and almost killed a Swedish  _child._  They got what they  _deserved_." With this last word, he let go of the invader and backed away.

He knew how much trouble this would cause him. He knew how much his government would  _hate_  him. They already saw him as a savage and violent being bent on  _genocide_  of all things. But right  _now_ , as he shoved the end of his shoe on the man's face, he couldn't bring himself to  _care._

He wanted them to  _pay_ …! For Karin, for his citizens, for his country, for his  _life-!_

The train arrived, everyone stopped and looked towards it, backing away, knowing this wasn't a pretty sight. The doors opened and people shuffled out of the locomotive. Through the closest door, as luck would have it, a woman walked out with her phone – doesn't she know dangerous thieves were lurking around? – but took one look at them surrounding the downed invaders and her eyes widened. "Herregud!" She shouted with a high pitch that made Sweden wince and then ran, tapping on her phone.

Others stopped to stare as well.

"Skita…" One of his citizens cursed. "Someone will be calling the police…"

"…Surprised no one called them yet…"

"Probably say we're attacking innocents…"

The man who Sweden identified as the leader spoke up. "Well, we're leaving then folks, scatter!" He shouted and people started rushing away amidst the crowds of scared citizens, into the train or downstairs into the subway station.

Sweden felt the energy sap from his body slowly. He swayed as uncomfortable chills hit him. Then, a hand was placed over his shoulder. He blinked and looked behind him, seeing the leader. "You shouldn't stay here with the cops."

As the confidence diminished, Sweden looked back at where he could hear faint shouting, approaching the station, along with sirens. He felt uncertain for a brief second, but shook his head and moved away from the… invader… Sweden still had some ire left to spare, though. "Anyone else gets hurt here, and I'll  _find_  you." He spat as he took steps back, noting the terror in the man's eyes.

As confidence disappeared, he felt shamefully satisfied. If Åsa found out about this… She would probably have no qualms with  _stabbing_  him with a knife and locking him away somewhere forever.

With a sigh, Sweden was pulled by the elbow, and he ran after the man and his two friends until they were safely out of sight, where they took their black hoods and cloth masks off, turning into normal citizens…

"…That was a close one…" The youngest one said.

The other who looked at just a few years older nodded. "Tell me about it, my hands are still shaking…"

"The hell happened…?"

"…Mob mentality?

The oldest one by a few years and sporting a bit of a beard only grinned, but was looking at Sweden with warm eyes, which became a bit alarmed when noticing he wasn't exactly excited like them.

Sweden felt like he was once again running low on energy, except this time it hit him like a blackout expanding through a city. His legs felt weak, his eyelids were heavy, his vision blurred.

"Hey… are you okay…? Do you need a hospital?"

He wasn't sure who asked, but he shook his head quickly, narrowing his eyes at the man. "Anything but that…"

It was such a bright source of energy in that station, now that it was gone, he felt weaker than ever. He already expected his body to react like this. So Sweden just sighed as he swayed and collapsed, meeting the darkness once again.

He didn't have enough energy to wonder if he would wake up again…

* * *

.

.

.

He did… Sweden could only let out a long sigh of relief, seconds before his mind finished crawling its way out of the unconscious world. He didn't have a reason to worry, quite honestly. He doubted his time was up just yet, he still had  _years_  of steady decline ahead… But the anxiety didn't care.

He pushed these painful thoughts aside, focusing on something else instead. What was under him was soft, probably a bed. He was still wearing his hooded sweater, but his shoes and long jacket were absent. He was covered by a hefty and warm blanket.

Sweden raised his hand from under the blanket, ruffling his hair. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room he was in.

Not  _his_  room… Eyes narrowing, he sat up drowsily and looked around. It seemed like a normal room. He could see a bedside table, a chair beside it where some clothes laid, probably his jacket, where he'd left his glasses as well. There was a rug on the floor and a tall dresser in the corner, too. He sighed and focused on expanding his senses in an attempt to find anyone nearby, but winced in pain when it seemingly had shortcut inside his brain.

No extra senses for now then…

Sweden laid back down slowly, arms over his eyes.

He was with three of his citizens before he passed out… He doubted they just left him there to be found by police and handed over to Åsa, who wouldn't ever leave him in a comfortable bed. He probably would have found himself in a cell…

So…

The door opened and the light was turned on right when Sweden looked at the new arrival, and the light immediately punished his eyes, making him wince again.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't know you were awake!" He heard. It was his citizen, the one with the trimmed beard, who had been carrying a loudspeaker around.

Sweden sat up once again, shaking his head as he blinked repeatedly, trying to get accustomed to the light. He opened his mouth to reassure the man, but found himself  _stuck._

Damn it…

"I'm Henrik, by the way. You are… uhm…" The man, Henrik seemed uncertain for a second, hands fiddling as he thought about a way to word his thoughts. "You're the one they've been talking about, right?  _Sverige?"_  He raised an eyebrow, highly inquisitive.

Sweden could faintly feel the  _wonder_ , and tried once again to voice his thoughts, but words seemed to stop before they reached his mouth. He lowered his head in frustration.

"Are you okay…?" Concern…

He narrowed his eyes, and after a second he looked at the man and pointed at his throat, shaking his head and shrugging, indicating clearly that he could not speak.

The concerned expression shifted to one of alarm as understanding hit the man. "Oh, lord… You can't speak...?!"

Sweden shook his head again with a tired and subdued look.

"But- You could before…!"

Sweden shrugged, indicating he had no idea what happened either.

"But how-" Whatever Henrik was going to say, he stopped and shook his head quickly, giving up on the question and gestured to the door behind him. "Nevermind. There's tea if you want. Can you walk?"

Sweden wanted to scoff. Not being able to walk would be the nail in the coffin… He could feel his legs just fine, so he nodded and pulled the blanket off him.

Henrik seemed relieved as he nodded with a smile and opened the door behind. "I have an idea if you don't mind- I mean, if you don't mind staying a bit." He shrugged.

Sweden turned his head to raise an eyebrow at Henrik while taking a second to make the bed.

"No, I certainly don't mind. No one does." Henrik said with a small smile.

Sweden clenched his fists in apprehension, but nodded and followed Henrik out and through a hallway. He spent most of the walk looking at his feet, though.

"My brothers helped me carry you here, by the way." He heard the man say.

Oh, if Åsa somehow found him here… Henrik and his brothers would be arrested… What Sweden did earlier wouldn't help these men's case.

They reached a living room. It seemed to be a spacious house, not an apartment, with large windows behind curtains and a glass door that probably led to a backyard. Looking around, Sweden made a quick beeline to the couch. The TV mounted on the wall above the fireplace was on, mute and displaying commercials. There was a round glass coffee table, where a small pot with a  _Linnaea_  rested. A Twinflower.

Oh, wonderful…

Henrik stopped by the door beside the couch. "Wait here, I'll get you that tea."

Sweden nodded, crossing his arms and looking away from the flowers. The human disappeared inside what looked like a kitchen, judging by the tiled floor, and Sweden was left alone to think.

Here he was… In a random citizen's home after passing out because of energy overdose.

'Overdose' by his current standards, of course… After a  _high_  it's easy to crash back down.

This made his scoff quietly. How he has fallen… It was sad and pathetic when he thought about it. He had such a great empire in his youth… Not the greatest, but great. That was okay… He was greedy back then, like any Nation with an empire, but it wasn't bad.  _Now_  even minimal bursts of energy overloaded his system…

…At least he  _woke_   _up_  again… He couldn't complain  _too_   _much_.

The news began on the TV, and sure enough, the 'riot' was mentioned in the banner under the anchor. An urgent announcement. Sweden watched the silent footage for a second before he picked up the remote laying on the couch, raising the volume just as a young woman spoke to a reporter in the area.

 _"-y shouldn't! I'm not your woman, I don't want your protection, you're the ones making me scared, worried, angry, and sad!"_  She stomped her foot like a child while saying this and Sweden immediately muted it again, letting out a shaky sigh.

Why…?

Why are his women ignoring the obvious danger? Why do they think they're physically strong enough to fight back against any man on their own? Why are they mad that men were trying to protect them and their children? Did they think those criminals were  _victims_? Or did they  _want_  to be attacked? Sweden lowered his head, staring at his hands.

Was this his fault? Was he too uncaring to his humans for most of his life? Was  _that_  coming back to haunt him? How has this  _dogma_  of selective tolerance to  _danger_  become the swill through which his people fed from…?

The door opened again as Sweden stared emptily at his own hands, probably painting a sad picture as well, and Henrik stopped short for just a second before he continued his path with an Ipad in his possession, and behind the man, walked out a woman holding a steaming tea cup.

"Hallå!" She greeted with a smile, putting the tea beside the Twinflowers. "I hope this helps. I put just a bit extra sugar, since you look a bit tired…" Her tone was kind. The help sugar could provide was nigh meaningless, but he appreciated it. "I am Irene, it's wonderful to meet you."

She seemed honest… He nodded but narrowed his eyes lightly. Women in his country were…  _difficult_. The majority of the ones he saw in his capital these days seemed to easily deny him. Sometimes even downright  _hate_  him.

"Don't worry," Henrik said as he sat on the other end of the couch. "She's not crazy like the others, right honey?"

"I'll say. I can't find many friends these days to go shopping with." She smiled playfully, hand over her husband's shoulders. He could see the golden band on her finger.

Sweden felt somewhat relieved, and picked up a cup, blowing some of the steam.

"Honestly, you really don't look like how we thought you would." Henrik commented with a sheepish grin.

Sweden raised an eyebrow at them.

Irene nodded. "We've been brainstorming for a while and everyone figured you probably looked like a smaller guy. We're not sure why…"

"Show what we know, huh? I have plenty of friends who would be surprised that you actually look tough." Because his foreign and internal policies really didn't give the tough-guy vibe, right…? Sweden stared with a deadpan, which made Henrik raise his hands in amity. "Ah, s-sorry, just ignore that then. Here," Henrik handed him the device he'd brought, pushing past the awkward topic. "You can use it if you want to talk." His eyes were alight with hopefulness, which Sweden couldn't deny in good consciousness.

So he took it. It had a digital notepad open, its keyboard popping up once he tapped it.

"Also…" Irene began, her tone hesitant as she pulled another smaller device from her sweater's pocket. His phone. "It was ringing a lot, and you were resting." She handed it to him. "Someone named ' _Fin'_  called many times, I thought maybe someone was worried, so I kind of…"

Sweden sighed as he looked down at it. Finland has been calling again, then? He raised an eyebrow at her.

"I'm sorry, he just seemed  _really_  worried."

Sweden nodded tiredly as he pocketed the phone. It was fine, he wasn't angry. Maybe it was good that Finland wouldn't think he was sick instead of just ignoring him – despite the fact that he was…

"Well, I'll leave you two to talk." Irene smiled lightly and kissed her partner on the head before walking towards the hallway and disappearing around the corner.

"She's wonderful, I'm really lucky… Just a bit nosey, but her heart is usually in the right place." Henrik gave him a sheepish smile again, then leaned forward on his seat. "You know… I'm sorry for getting you involved in that mess, I… I'm not sure what came over me, or anyone… I guess that was group-think, it wasn't supposed to end in violence." He seemed genuinely regretful, but maybe he wasn't remorseful for the men Sweden had hurt. "You'll get into trouble, right?"

He seemed more worried about Sweden. It was heartwarming, literally.

Sweden nodded, having already tapped something he wanted to say. 'I got angry. Sorry for influencing you all.'

Henrik blinked, brows going up. "Huh… That's how it works…" His expression shifted into something more somber. "So you're  _not_  letting this happen on purpose like they said. There  _is_  something deeply wrong, you must know better than anyone… You  _passed_   _out_ , so it  _is_  connected, right? You with the country…?"

Sweden nodded, taking another sip of tea.

"See, I knew it…" Henrik mumbled angrily to himself, looking away thoughtfully. " _Sverige_  is your real name, right…?" He then asked quietly, to which Sweden nodded. "If you don't mind me asking, what happened? Why can't you speak?" When Sweden froze and averted his eyes, Henrik backed away. "Sorry, it's just… The others can speak. Is it our media censoring? Is that how this works?"

Sweden looked around the room as he thought. Maybe it would be good to share it, but… He couldn't tell him to keep it a secret after telling said secret. Why even tell in that case? There was no reason to. So if he told, it would spread, and that meant Åsa would find out about it at some point.

Seeing his hesitancy, Henrik nodded. "It's okay. You don't need to explain if you don't want to."

People like Henrik wanted to  _resist_ something perceived to be wrong. He didn't want to get directly involved, so maybe it would be good if Sweden provided them with extra ammunition. He was so tired of just… watching his life unravel right in front of his eyes… His brows furrowed as this sliver of determination grew.

'Statsminister ordered me not to.'

Henrik gaped lightly, eyes narrowing as he tilted his head. "He  _ordered_  you not to speak? You  _have_  to obey?"

Sweden nodded.

"What about everything that's been happening? The gangs? The No-Go Zones?"

'Told to not go near gangs. Ordered to stay out of Zones.'

Henrik stood up and began to pace angrily, his teeth showing. "Fucking  _jäkel_ …! They really  _are_  ignoring everything…! I just  _can't_  understand… They see our women and children been attacked and robbed and t-touched and  _beaten_  on  _camera_  and they don't fucking  _do_  anything…!"

The anger and frustration spilled over to Sweden, now clenching his fists.

"All snakes, the whole lot…" Henrik mumbled, but stopped suddenly. "Hey… Those immigrants said…" Henrik was calming down slowly, sighing in frustration as he turned to look at him. "One of them said, actually, that he had brothers. That…" He gestured to Sweden, trying to formulate his thoughts before giving up, sitting down, and starting again with a more earnest expression. "Look, what happened there? I know this is going to reach the public, but I would rather have the real version, from you, because we all know the media will  _always_  lie. They will run with the most outrageous story. The idea that  _you_  killed some immigrants is going to be a goldmine. But  _someone_  has to have the real explanation."

That man had said it, in front of everyone. This strange hooded man  _killed_  some people. It's not that he felt particularly remorseful about it the act itself. He's killed people in the past, mostly during war. They weren't  _his,_ no matter what his government said.

They didn't accept him.

They didn't want to be Swedish. So he didn't accept them as his either. He didn't care and his leaders just wanted him to feel  _bad_  for not caring.

He was horrible, he has done horrible things in the past, that's the reason he didn't care… they told him. He  _should_  care.

By being remorseless for non-Swedish people he's hurt and  _killed_ , he knew his media would attack him senselessly, and his government would applaud it as they continuously invited more and more people who rejected his image and name, ignoring as they hurt  _his_  people, omitting information and lying through the media, effectively letting an invasion happen in the name of  _tolerance_  for different cultures, laughing as they slowly stabbed him in the back and cheering as this more imposing culture  _ate_  his like a rabid dog.

His culture and image, which they claimed didn't exist at all.

It wasn't possible to shove opposing cultures together. Throughout his life, he's never heard of that working. It naturally falls apart as the strongest culture comes out on top, killing the Nation and creating another. If both are strong and opposing, it could split a Nation into two, and sooner or later, a conflict would drive them apart as the centuries go by.

Humanity hasn't changed just because they reached a new millennium. The well-fed and catered children of the current generation had  _no idea_  what the real world was like outside the comfort of their capitalistic democracies. The societies and order that their Nations and ancestors built in the course of thousands of years spared them of such hardships.

Sweden and all the Nations who followed the lead of Western societies went far and beyond the natural order of humanity. Everyone had their rights and anyone could say whatever they wanted. Women could vote. Even atheists and gays were accepted naturally. But many others haven't followed them.

The natural rules of the olden still apply.

Nations could still die for the same reasons they did in the past –  _like an invasion, his mind supplied unhelpfully_ – and the fact that they were the strange ones in this world wasn't going to spare them from reality once it came knocking.

Sweden frowned at the thought. Well… If he was going to resist  _death_ , he couldn't just passively take everything they threw at him. He understood the real world. He couldn't just take it. He straightened his shoulders, brows furrowing as he typed his answer. Information is  _key._  Just provide them with what they need.

You'll be rewarded in the end.

'Found three beating a child they'd raped, 15 years old. Lost my head and killed them. Ordered not to speak as punishment. Secret not yet out, so incident misreported because of liaison agency. Victim falsely accused of slander.'

"My God…" Henrik shook his head hesitantly, hand over his mouth in thought. "So that's what that whole thing was about, those cruel snakes… But… you don't resort to that easily, do you? Killing…?"

Sweden shook his head. Karin was drowning in fear, such a strong paralyzing terror, angst, and contempt, easily washing over and sparking an immediate protective instinct, always much stronger with women and children.

Women and children are the future after all. Nations naturally want to protect them above all else.

His senses couldn't detect the attackers as his own, which meant they were an outside threat, which meant they had to be  _eliminated_ , or so his brain concluded unconsciously. It has been so long since his instincts were triggered so abruptly…

"You just protect your own, then…? That's good." Henrik sighed. Most humans these days would be  _very_  put off by someone with blood on their hands. It made Sweden narrow his eyes at the man, suspicious. "…Something  _needs_  to be done, we really can't just watch this happen to our own people in our own homeland. Otherwise, these people will just keep doing it and will just be rewarded fifteen hundred crowns next month, in welfare  _we_  are paying, and then we'll continue to invite  _more_  people. We need…  _something_  that will convince people that we have a  _real_  problem, and  _maybe_ …" He pointed lazily at Sweden. "Maybe you could provide them with a better image of that problem. You did pass out, you  _are_  sick, so something  _is_  wrong, right?"

Sweden nodded slowly, tapping with caution as his fingers began to tremble with this next message he wanted to convey. Once done, he put it aside for Henrik to read and picked up his tea, not nearly as warm at this point.

Something was indeed wrong. Admitting it was the hardest part, but letting someone know, even if useless in the long-run, felt like a relief to his shoulders…

'At this rate, I'll be dead within 20 years.'

As the number of people who believed and accepted what he represented dwindled, as more outsiders made themselves comfortable in his land without truly becoming his, and with the risk of his people and their low-birth rate turning into a minority as the years went by, it was painfully obvious that Sweden could not survive a change of this magnitude.

Grown Nations aren't that adaptable. His heart accelerated as he admitted it once again. Death, darkness,  _nothingness_ … The end.

Henrik stared at the screen he held in silence for a few long seconds, then sighed, looking up but not a Sweden. "You know… I actually have a daughter." He confessed. "She's barely two and she's sleeping in her room with Irene. We didn't really intend to have her…" He shrugged. "With all these people coming here, way too many who think it's okay to touch and hurt girls – I should know, I've worked in migrant centers, talked to many of them – and my wife and I didn't want to risk having a daughter. But I'm sure you know… Accidents happen."

Sweden remained quiet, staring at the floor.

"She's so tiny now, but I still can't sleep easy, I know children her age have been attacked before, I know… I want her to be able to walk to school from our home without having to be afraid of strange men  _molesting_  her on her way. I don't want to distrust my neighbors just because of their skin; I don't want my family to be looking behind their shoulders all the time…! I just  _can't_  accept them letting these sorts of men walk away with no punishment for raping our girls or stealing our money, sometimes even letting them walk free just because they claim to be  _minors_  when it's stark obvious that they're not!" His voice rose.

Sweden nods again, his brows knitting as this anger and his own sadness twisted around in his head.

"Even when they do punish them, they just let them off with a pat on the back, some money and a ticket home, only to accept them back later with open arms!" Henrik stood up again with an angry huff, ruffling his hair angrily. "They just let them leave the country to join those  _terrorists_  abroad and then accept them  _back_  with food and money, I can't stand it! I walk around downtown and I see women  _covered up_  everywhere and I can't believe it! A  _jävel_  even told  _my_  wife to cover up! So you  _see,_  there's  _no_  reason to  _not_  be angry. This is just how things are now. We  _need_  to be angry, there's  _no_  other choice." Henrik said the last words harsh and low as he sat back down again.

Was this his fault…? Did he let this happen, or was he paying for his past? No matter the option, Sweden felt largely at fault. His people are either  _deluded_  or  _scared_  and neither gave him strength to do anything, and beyond the fact that he didn't want to simply lay down and accept his fate, he still felt  _guilty_ and  _ashamed_.

Even if he wanted to push back, guilt and shame were always there.

Because he never truly cared about humans in the past. Their feelings, their hopes, and dreams, they never mattered. They were just… his. He protected them like one protects their cheap belongings, none too special to lose or risk his life over.

"I'm sorry for the… uh, the rant…? I just get  _passionate,_  when I get into this." Henrik huffed tiredly, his energy obviously spent on talking.

Sweden sighed with a nod. There was no reason to form emotional attachments to such feeble existences, with animal-like minds that served no purpose other than keeping him alive.

Like  _cattle_.

He knew back then that his mind was pre-disposed to  _care_ , but he always resisted it. It was weak to care about animals. He rarely even bothered to open his mouth to talk to them. He never enjoyed fighting anywhere near them, felt like they were nothing but distractions, and usually went ahead or around to face the enemy Nation whenever he could, instead of fighting beside his people.

But with the Napoleonic Wars and France's aggression, he was forced close to humans by his leader and his generals for the first time.

So close that he was surrounded by them and felt it under his skin in a way he's never felt before, their emotions, their fears, their love, their ambitions. He heard their stories in barracks or ships at night, about their lives and their families, all rendered meaningless once they were killed on the battlefield or lost to the sea. For some reason, that hurt as if he'd  _just_  discovered how fragile they were.

After that, he wanted nothing to do with war ever again. He wanted to listen, he wanted to be caring, to take their opinions into consideration. He didn't want to hurt them again… He wanted to be the Nation he never was to them.

"…Wow… What is happening, now…?" Sweden snapped out of his thoughts as Henrik left his seat and kneeled in front of the coffee table, watching the Twinflowers. "Irene had just watered it…"

Sweden gasped silently before he felt pity and remorse. Its delicate petal fell, the flower had bent under its own weight. Sweden sighed in resignation, taking the device beside him to write.

'Sorry.'

Henrik raised an eyebrow when he turned and read it. "Wow, indeed…" He looked back at the dying flower, his shoulders dropping, his tone calm. "You said your emotions influenced us. So… Is this  _your_   _misery_  I'm feeling out of  _nowhere?"_  He could hear a little bit of mirth, which was gone very quickly as he sighed. "I… know I might sound really intolerant, I get that, but I just don't want to lose my homeland… As in, my family has always been Swedish and this place has always provided us with what we needed… and I care about my fellow Swedish men, because even with any differences in opinions and appearance we may have, we share  _this_  bond in the end. I know some history, and while I don't know what kind of guy you used to be, we, the Swedish, have always loved our home and our way of life. We all share that. These  _people,_ though… the media, the government, even the young adults fresh out of college, they don't want us to be  _proud,_  they don't want us to care about our country, they just… want us to feel guilty of our ancestry and our history, so  _blindly_  guilty that we would accept anything to repay this  _debt_ they say we have to the world, to those who… are less fortunate, who don't share this bond with us. We're…  _tolerant_  and  _altruistic_  people. We're  _helping_." The man scoffed mockingly. "They've been telling that to you too, haven't they?"

The last part came out more softly, yet somehow, much more somber.

While Sweden didn't answer, he did cross his arms, inhaling deeply. He's been hearing such platitudes for years now.

 _Let the less fortunate in, you're being a good Nation, history will see it as such. They'll thank you and love you for it._ Henrik certainly didn't love that about him.

"I feel like they have. If anything, denying you your own ability to  _speak_  sounds just like the type of thing they'd do. Just… attack and  _silence_  any dissent." Henrik turned to him. "Look, like many, I'm voting for the Right next election. If we get the Swedish Democrats in charge, they'd be able to let you speak again, correct?"

Sweden nodded slowly. The leader of the so-called 'Nazi Party' always gave him a nice feeling, concerned glances and encouraging grins, which he never wanted to admit. Either way Sweden wasn't allowed near them.

"Great.  _Everyone_  should know what they're doing to you, this is completely inhumane _. Not letting you speak, what the fuck is wrong with these people…?"_  Then, Henrik gave him a small smile. "If our country has a face that can be  _seen,_  someone to empathize with, I'm sure it'll be much easier for people to care, to understand the situation we're in, and then we can start to sort this out. Then…" He stopped, sorting out his thoughts, then continued. "Would you say that you'd have a better chance, then? Of… surviving…?"

Sweden blinked in surprise. Did he have a chance? 20 years isn't that long, it would surely go by in a flash and his time would be up before he knew it. For a human, maybe this amount of time was long enough to feel like they could accomplish something, but… Was it possible?

In just 20 years…?

'I don't know. Two decades is not much.' He wrote.

There's a number of things that could be done in much less time, but all of these things sounded  _cruel_  in his head. He didn't want to resort to cruelty.

"Not much? I guess with your age, that wouldn't be…" Henrik narrowed his eyes at the device, tapping his chin in thought. "But we'll be trying anyway." The man stood, crossing his arms. "We're taking our country  _back_. If someone doesn't want to be Swedish in heart  _and_  values, they can leave, because we're not giving any state money for freeloaders. And  _you_ ," Henrik pointed at Sweden, startling him. "are sticking around for another  _millennium,_  you hear me?"

Sweden struggled to keep a straight face, but wasn't quite able to keep his eyes from widening in disbelief.

"I know the Right-Wing has a bad fame, however, I ask that you support them, for our country. Be proud of our culture, of  _yourself_ , be proud of being Swedish!" Henrik shook his fist in front of his face excitedly, a fierce look in his eyes. "You're not going to listen to those Leftist harpies or to the government, they just want you to  _hate_  yourself! We have the RIGHT to be the majority in our own country, we have the right to be safe in our own country, and Swedish people have the right to be privileged here! It's  _our homeland!"_  Henrik grabbed his shoulders, staring directly into his now wide eyes. "You can be sure, Sverige, I'll give my all to make sure you'll  _live_."

Silent wonder… and  _trust_. It was the most comfortable warmth in the world.

* * *

_'Be proud.'_

Watching feet moving, one at a time, he walked quietly.

_'This is your homeland. You have the right to choose who comes in. You're not a monster for protecting your people… Your people love you and want to protect you… You don't owe anyone because of your wealth. You only own your own people, the ones who kept you alive this whole time.'_

These thoughts repeated for the entire hour he's been walking. He walked past lightposts, its lights reflecting on the water of the canals he walked past. He passed by houses where he occasionally sensed a stronger connection, a more loyal human, and the thin gleam of melted snow glittered with the lights from their windows.

 _'Be proud of yourself.'_ He thought as he walked towards a more desolate area on the outskirts of the town, passing by leafless trees, until finally, he found the dirt path that led to his house. A few more minutes and he was passing by a silver car and then standing in front of the wooden door.

He could sense her inside. Waiting for him.

Sweden's brows furrowed as he frowned. He removed his hands from his pockets, clenching hands and standing straight.

 _'Don't let her sway you.'_ He took a deep breath and pushed the door open, letting the wind in.

The TV was on, the news covering the  _incident_ but it was silent. She was on the couch, half turned away from the door with a cup of tea. She heard the door, and Sweden could feel the rising tide of cold animosity.

_'Ignore it.'_

"I  _know_  you were there." Her voice was cold like ice. "You couldn't miss the chance, could you…?" She swirled her tea, head shaking slowly. "You saw those rioters and… you got  _excited_. So you went and joined them."

Sweden walked in slowly, going behind the couch, eyes focused on anything but her.

"You joined them… and then you saw some people who… looked a bit  _different_. You got everyone to copy you and you all rounded up some innocent people and beat them up like  _animals_."

The picture she painted made him grit his teeth and he finally turned to face Åsa, her expression twisted into a scowl that glared at nothing in particular. Her eyes closed as she sighed loudly, then she stood and turned to face him with her arms crossed.

"You're just  _determined_  to torment people for being different, aren't you?" She leaned to the side and began walking around the couch, her voice chillingly mocking. "Is it because they're not white? Is that it? They're not 'Swedish', so you want to kill them? What's wrong with not being Swedish?"

_'Don't let her get to you. She doesn't know what happened.'_

"Is that it? You're on a power trip now that you're an open  _fascist?_  Are you happy with yourself?"

_'She's nothing but a liar. You're certainly not a fascist.'_

"Are you…  _proud_  of what you've done?" She stopped when she was directly in front of him, close enough that she had to tilt her head up to look at him.

Sweden looked down at her and crossed his arms. He nodded ** _._** _'J_ _ust be proud of yourself. You're protecting your country and people from now on.'_

Åsa scoffed loudly with a disbelieving smirk as she backed away. "Oh, really, you  _are?!"_  Her shoulders tensed as she raised her hand, her palm open and directed at his face. Sweden held her wrist in the nick of time, Åsa's eyes widened like a startled deer, then she began to struggle. "L-Let go of me! You-This is  _harassment!"_  Sweden winced at the high-pitched screech and let her go before she started screaming 'rape', taking a step back as her own momentum pushed her away.

She wasn't touching him again, not with words and not with her hand.

Åsa stumbled back, but lost balance because of her heels. She glared from the ground as she dragged herself away, furious. "You racist  _scum…!_  I knew you couldn't be  _trusted…!_ Don't even try to hurt me again, everyone will know if you do!" She yelled as she stood once again. "If it were up to me, you'd be locked in a cell  _underground_ …! You think I don't  _know_ your little  _secret?!"_  She got closer to him, trying to yell at his face.

Sweden raised an eyebrow.

Her smirk widened. "I  _know_  you and the rest of your  _kind_  are the problem…! Humanity doesn't  _need_  you…!  _You_  need  _us!"_  She pointed at his face, making him lean back and glare. "You are a  _parasite_  to us, you're in the way of peace, you've always been…! You've been killing people your entire life and you don't  _regret_  anything, you just live for centuries at our expense, you think we don't  _know?!_  Humans have to die for you to live, right?! You take the life that should have been ours!"

Wait, what…? Sweden stared, disbelief obvious.

Åsa backed away, her posture aggressive and cautious. "Yeah, we know the  _truth_ , you Nations are nothing but  _leeches!"_  She finally screeched. "You think I have never seen plants dying near you?!" He couldn't stop his eyes from widening further, which made her cackle. "Yes, a lot of people know the truth!" Åsa had backed away until she was by the door. "But it's not going to be like this forever, oh no. One day, we will take back what's rightfully ours,  _Nation!_  You'll regret this!"

The door was closed harshly, and soon he was hearing the screech of motor and tires. After a few seconds, there was no sound in the world around him.

Sweden stood still, staring at the door silently. 'What just happened…?' He mouthed to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More context and information in the original News Feed entry on FF.net.


	22. Dues Paid

* * *

**London – Palace of Westminster (UTC +1) 2:26 p.m.**

England walked with only half an ear tuned to the rabble of noise around him. Because that's what the people around him were at that moment. Noisy rabble.

"You could  _not_  possibly mean that, right, Lord Kirkland? Do you even realize what you've said to the  _entire_  United Kingdom?"

England rolled his eyes at his dramatic member of parliament. But continued walking through the halls of the palace towards the House of Lords' main room.

"Indeed," another continued from somewhere behind him. "do you wish your people to lose faith in our position in the European Union?"

"How can we possibly leave, just like that? Do you want to die so badly, Lord Kirkland?"

England sighed at that. "I can handle leaving just  _fine_ , you lot. I was  _fine_  before joining and I'll be  _fine_  after leaving."

"You talk as if you've already decided…!"

"Basically yes, I'm quite sure for now." He'd finally reached the open doors to the House of Lords, mildly packed with many others who barely noticed his arrival, yet, and once inside, he turned to his entourage, gesturing towards the seats. "You may resume your jobs, now, my lords. You'll have  _plenty_  of time to convince me otherwise in here." They all huffed and dragged their feet past him. "…Although I doubt you'll have any argument I haven't heard yet…" He muttered as they passed, drawing some mildly nasty looks, which he ignored by crossing his arms and looking away.

It's not like they could do much other than talking to the Nation to change his views or delaying the House of Commons from doing anything.

Of course, at some point, Lords had a lot of power, and so did he as a Nation, except he had a lot more pull in the decisions, he had the final say in amending and denying new laws passed by the Commons.

But nowadays, the House has been largely stripped of power, and while England didn't like to feel paranoid, he couldn't help but feel like something was up. Maybe his government didn't quite like when the Nation had such power… Now it was just the power of talking and stalling.

England scoffed and turned away from the room, waiting outside in a tall and square room adjacent to the House.

All the Lords would proceed to try and pull him in their direction, so England could go and share it with the queen, who could then talk to the Prime Minister and  _then_  influence the rest of the parliament in charge. No actual  _direct_  power.

England couldn't say he liked his new status. He almost missed the totalitarian monarchy, although he would probably have to alleviate the nostalgia with some history books, to remember why he gave up on the system to begin with…

Well… What he did miss was the architecture of the old, though. That will never dissipate, he thought as he looked at the ceiling, illuminated with golden lights from a large chandelier, making the ornamented walls and detailed floor stand out even more.

 _This_ … he  _truly_ missed. Not the boring glass and white blandness of modern day.

"Ah, I found you~!" A sing-song tone hit his ears.

England blinked and looked down to where heard the voice, coming from the straight path that led to the House of Commons, was a short – around England's height – chubby man, coming straight at England.

England grimaced. "Sir Byron."

"You  _beautiful_  man!" Byron, his capital's current mayor, who immediately attempted to hug him.

England leaned away, elbow up to stop the man from completely circling his arms around him. "Please, don't-"

"Why didn't you  _tell_  me you were on our side?!" The man was grinning as England pushed him off further. "If I had known I had convinced you-!"

"You didn't convince me of anything, Sir Byron." England finally pushed him a bit more forcefully, taking a step back. The man only laughed. "I reached a conclusion on my own,  _thank_   _you_."

"You're welcome."

England wanted to slap his own face with his palm, had to force his hand to stop half-way there, but chose to simply massage his temples instead. He found it very appropriate that this man was actually born  _American,_ in a way.

"In all seriousness, though," Byron began, clasping his hands together. "Your support is  _much_  appreciated."

"I didn't officially support the Independence Party." England raised his hand to stop him. "I merely stated that I prefer Leave at this point."

Byron grinned and lifted a finger up, his tone becoming almost a whisper. "But you are  _correct_ , Lord Kirkland…! You are  _right_  about leaving, that is the  _point_. You might as well have shouted from the  _rooftops_  that you support us. You, of all people, saying what we've been saying for years!"

"…Of course…" England mumbled, hands on his waist as he turned away from the man, glaring at the floor. That is exactly how the media was seeing this and it was exactly why the idea that Nations were naturally  _xenophobic_  was a popular opinion in the mainstream narrative. They weren't exactly saying he was a horrible person, they just… let people think this was just natural for his  _kind._

"And while you haven't  _officially_  supported us, you have actual reasons, right? I-I mean…" The man hesitated for a second. "We shouldn't have our government bowing to these immigrants, right…? A-And the EU…! We can't just let them rule over us, we're not some  _state_  within a bigger country, right?" He ruffed.

Bowing to immigrants, obeying a larger ruling state… It felt humiliating in a way England had long suppressed, he let all of these things happen. He's been very tolerant…

 _So_  very  _tolerant_ , for years…

But even he had his limits. Those kids in his land… they had no idea what they were talking about. England felt that they thought he was  _remorseless_  for what he'd done as a colonizer. While his part in ending the slave trade was one of the few achievements he's truly  _proud_  of, he knows he's done many other horrible things as well… But they were seemingly incapable of accepting that he wasn't without regrets until he was groveling and begging for forgiveness.

No, he wouldn't stoop that low. He knows where their hatred is coming from but he's paid his dues. No need to suffer any longer.

Still not looking at Byron, England shook his head. "It feels like I have this… this  _empire_  looming over my head… It's not  _quite_  there, but it has weight." He hissed, gesturing over his head with a hand. He still had  _some_  pride left. He would not let his people tell him that he shouldn't be proud. He wasn't going to bow to  _anyone._ Not anymore.

"An empire!" Byron exclaimed, almost excitedly as he walked around England to face him. "Exactly! Oh,  _my_. What if they find a Nation representing the  _EU?"_  He ruffled his messy hair.

England scoffed and crossed his arms. "Just another reason to leave. I don't want to be stuck in a new 'Holy Rome' debacle. I saw how  _that_  ends."

"Oh?" Byron raised an eyebrow. "Never heard of  _that_  one, the Holy Roman Empire had a Nation?"

England let out a suffering and dramatic sigh as he tilted his head back. "Yes, they did. Nations banding together to form a tight coalition under a powerful empire to defend themselves, and then end up creating another Nation…" England nudged his chin, narrowing his eyes and focused on nothing in particular around the room. "There's a catch, though… For the empire-Nation to grow strong, unity would have to be solid,  _however_ … for unity to be truly solid, all the original Nations would have to  _die,_  basically…"

Byron winced.

"Such a  _dilemma…"_  England sneered but agreed with the sentiment, nodding. "He never even grew into a teenager before he died. His family and subjects were never truly united. Quite honestly, we, as Nations, cannot commit to suicidal actions, Sir Byron, no matter how much we believe in the 'greater good' or the 'everlasting peace', so in these cases, intentionally or not, we would simply end up being a saboteur to unity. Empires with multiple Nations too close to one another are  _naturally_  self-destructive…" He shrugged.

"So you wish to… abandon ship, per say?" Byron made a little motion with his hands resembling a little man with one hand jumping from a supposed ship with the other.

England raised an eyebrow at the motion, but continued nevertheless. "That is why I didn't want to  _join_  in the first place… I want to  _leave,_  not only because the immigration is giving me too many troubles, but because… I don't  _trust_  those EU leaders.  _R_ _ats_ my people didn't vote to elect, dictating what I can or cannot do?" He scoffed in derision. "No, I don't like that, and I won't wait for a brat named  _Europe_  to be born seeking the banner of  _United_   _States_   _of_   _Europe_." Over his dead body, England added mentally with a scorn. Maybe it was paranoia, but England didn't care.

His words only seemed to make Byron more and more elated as he nodded in agreement.

"Lord Kirkland…!" They both blinked and looked at the direction of the House of Commons, where his Prime Minister stood, eyes widened in alarm before narrowing at both of them. "We're about to start,  _Sir Byron._  If you don't  _mind_."

"Oh, sure, of course." Byron clasped his hands and turned to England with a grin. "We'll continue this later, my Lord." He walked past his leader who didn't spare the man a glance, much to his shame as well, as Byron made rude gestures behind him before continuing on his way with dramatic grandeur.

England retained a straight face, for Byron's own sake. How typically American, that man…

After a second, his Prime Minister, who England casually called Sir Davis, crossed his arms, staring suspiciously at the Nation. "Now what were you thinking, exactly?"

England shrugged nonchalantly, crossing his arms as well. "You gave me the option and I thought about it. Simple as that."

Davis almost let out a cynical laugh under his breath. "I wasn't entirely serious about it. You  _know_  that."

England nodded, eyes wandering away from the man. "Yes, you just wanted to get elected again, simple political move." He let his words drawl before turning serious again. "However, the people are thinking about it, and therefore so am I. Don't go thinking they'll forget about it. I can  _guarantee_  you they won't leave you alone until we have this referendum."

Davis sighed and raised his hands in amity. "Alright, Lord Kirkland. We'll have the referendum. I don't think it'll make a difference; most people don't  _actually_  want to Leave. But if it will put you and this  _minority_  at ease, then so shall be it. I'm sure the rest of the Lords will make you see  _reason_ , though."

England narrowed his eyes at the man. "I'm perfectly reasonable right now."

Davis approached and pointed to the hall that led to the outside of the castle. "What you did on national television out there was not 'reasonable' at all. You better  _hope_  this doesn't give us too much trouble this year."

That sounded like a threat.

"You have no authority over my agency,  _Minister."_ England droned. "Only the queen has that and you know she doesn't like ordering me around."

The man took a deeper breath through his nose, as if attempting to calm down before nodding. "I  _know_. But you  _still_  can't do and say whatever you want with no thought for the consequences, especially in times like these…!"

"I thought about the consequences."

"You certainly did not. I've been receiving calls from EU higher-ups every single day."

"I do not care about those rats."

"Lord Kirkland-"

"I absolutely do not care about how much they wish to throttle me at the moment. I stand by what I said. I wish to Leave and that's just  _my opinion."_  England leaned forward slightly, hands behind his back as he smirked in condescension. "You  _know_  that."

He is  _England,_ after all. His opinion isn't only  _his._

The man's balled fists shook with suppressed frustration – which England felt vividly – before he turned away sharply, hissing under his breath. "Do as you wish, you  _infuriating_  man…"

England couldn't help but let out a mocking laugh as he walked in the opposite direction.

* * *

**Stockholm (UTC +2) 3:52 p.m.**

If Sweden had predicted the waves his little 'talk' with Henrik would create, he would have considered making himself visible earlier.

Even if it gave his government the sudden urge to lock him in a box and throw away the key. It merely left him with a level of vindictive  _satisfaction_  that he hadn't rightfully felt in a while, not without guilt, of course.

He's been trying to push this reflexive guilt aside for a few days now, but only with minimal success…

He also could not let his leader see him anymore, least he gives him another  _order_. He even had to make himself scarce when he sensed him approaching his house, and lived in the woods for a few days until the man was most certainly gone. It's not like his sheltered leader would ever step foot into the woods.

Either way, Sweden knew that the simple fact that he wasn't allowed to speak  _at all_  proved to be a huge controversy to be discussed nonstop.

They could not ignore it when Swedish social medias were buzzing as they were.

His government made no attempts to make him look like a decent fellow. According to them, he was forbidden from speaking so he wouldn't influence them with 'toxic' or 'harmful' ideas, and soon enough, they revealed it was a  _punishment_  as well. They've negleted to specify what the punishment was about as well. The media did its best to ignore the real reason.

Even so, that backfired rather spectacularly, because no one focused on that _._

Wasn't that 'punishment' oppressive? Was a Nation… a minority? Was he their  _slave?_

Well… That seemed to be more important than what Sweden actually did,  _somehow._

"So," Started his youngish companion. "now that we can corner them like this, we'll be able to gain more supporters much more quickly. The media storm around you – and Nations in general – are a  _great_  train to ride right now."

The speaker was sitting on the armchair with his phone, tapping furiously with a grin. Barely into adulthood, Erik was a young independent journalist, cousin of the campaign manager for the Swedish Democrats, and a young man who wanted to join the Party as well.

An anonymous player,  _for now._

"We divide them," Erik pointed at nothing in particular. "then we attack under the smokescreen of confusion!"

Divide and conquer tactics? Interesting. Sweden tilted his head a bit as Erik continued to ramble. It seemed to be a habit of his, he thought while narrowing his eyes lightly. Rambling for too long at least spared Sweden the need to join the conversation…

"-since you see, there's this 'big debate' on whether Nations are an  _oppressed_   _minority_  or not, and not gonna lie, it's  _kinda_  hilarious to watch it unfold. On one side, there are some Nations who seem to have power, but on the other, there are Nations like  _you!"_ Sweden raised an eyebrow. "I mean, they can take your ability to  _speak?!_  You  _have_  to obey and all, doesn't that sound so  _oppressive?_  They love that word, don't they? Anyhow, can they do that to others too? Wow, they're totally going crazy-! The point is, they're dividing themselves in the process of deciding what to  _think_  of you and  _we_  didn't even have to do anything! Isn't that wonderful?!" Erik laughed to himself, almost manically in elation before turning to his phone again. "Anyway, what were we talking about again?" Then he looked at Sweden again.

Sweden stared back with a deadpan.

"Riiight… Sorry." Erik nodded slowly. "We'll get back to our deal, heh, sorry I got sidetracked. Anyway-"

Sweden suddenly felt his attention diverting to something else. Erik's voice shifted to the background and Sweden's eyes darted to the side subtly.

Was something coming his way?

Or someone…?

It certainly wasn't his leader or Åsa. It was… fast, but not faster than a car, and very  _familiar_  as it approached, he tilted his head in its direction unconsciously as if it would help him hear something, and then…  _Oh_.

Sweden narrowed his eyes at nothing in particular, scowling. He knew the presence.

Soon enough, a gunshot-like sound rippled through the entire house, startling Erik who squeaked as he nearly dropped his phone and then stood. Something had crashed several inches through the door, not quite taking it down, but Sweden could see the gleaming metal. He stood as well and crossed his arms. The  _blade_  was pulled back and the following second strike made the door explode forward.

As the door hit the ground, an imposing figure stood, light from outside shadowing the man who grinned, white teeth seemingly shining. "Found you~!"

Sweden remained unmoving.

Erik made an 'eep' sound and hid behind him. The kid wasn't a soldier… He couldn't blame him when he looked like he's never made any physical effort in his entire life.

"Oh my god…" Erik peeked from behind Sweden as the figure walked in, the gleaming giant axe nearly grazing the floor, making it seem much more threatening.

Sweden didn't like  _fear_. Especially coming from his citizens when they're this close. He huffed in annoyance and approached, his scowl deepening.

 _Denmark_  was always  _too_   _much_ for any given situation.

The blond Nation by the door scoffed, grin still on his face. "Not happy to see me?" He swung his battle-axe expertly, being deceitful with its apparent weight, and letting it rest on his shoulder. "It's like you've been hiding. Everyone's worried, you know?"

Sweden sighed with a tired look. He couldn't possibly stop Denmark from finding out that he couldn't speak, if he didn't know already. That was most likely the reason he was there, even. He would have to deal with his unpredictability on the fly.

Denmark snapped his fingers in front of his face, making Sweden hiss silently and step back. Denmark backed away, grin faltering. "So it's true then? Can't speak  _at all?"_

With no other choice, Sweden remained silent, arms still crossed as he glared at Denmark's incredulous face.

The shorter Nation groaned and rolled his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose. "Ooh, I can't  _believe_  you…" Then he spotted a terribly spooked Erik behind him and pushed Sweden aside, much to his annoyance.

Erik took a step back. "You are…?"

Denmark gave him a confident grin and outstretched his hand. "Denmark. Nice to meet ya!"

Erik took his hand with an increasingly excited expression. "Holy-! You're  _Denmark?_  Oh, awesomeness…!" He let out what almost sounded like a giggle.

Denmark nodded, proud like a peacock as usual. "I know, I know. Most humies don't get to meet their own Nation, let alone someone else's. Lucky you-  _Anyway_ , I'm not here for that." He turned away from Erik, who backed away with a panicked step back as the blade swung dangerously close to his face.

Sweden was tapping his foot the whole time and stopped as the shorter Nation approached. "You see," He began as he placed a hand on his shoulder. "I think having a government that hates you this  _much_  must be very stressing, so I think you really should… chill out a little." His grin turned into a smirk.

Sweden raised an eyebrow in suspicion, but then Denmark moved and grabbed his forearm instead, pulling harshly. Sweden's reflexes kicked in a second too late. His vision spun and he found himself going through the glass of the window right beside the door, feeling the meager pain of shards cutting the back of his neck and head.

He hit the ground outside, hissing with more anger than pain as he wiped the glass off, seeing some blood on his hand.

Great. His barreled fist hit the ground as he huffed. Now the window was broken too. And where did his glasses go…? He looked around, hoping to spot it somewhere, but was interrupted.

_"What the-!"_

_"Stay out of this, menneske. This is between Sverige and I."_

Sweden sighed in annoyance as he stood. No time to look for his glasses then, he'd find them later. Denmark walked over the broken door and out into his field of vision. Well, hopefully, he would be able to come out of this with minimal damage.

His wounds are healing much slower than they should, after all…

Erik leaned outside with caution but looked between the two Nation with wide eyes, seemingly wanting to run to Sweden's side, but hesitating to move past the doorway. "W-What are you doing…?!" He yelled at Denmark, who rolled his eyes.

"Nations need to wind out every now and then, you know? To get rid of that stress we accumulate over time. I'm sick of this modern 'no-violence' nonsense." Sweden could see the way he held the axe, he knew that stance, he was ready to swing down on him. "We  _fight_  for the same reasons humans exercise in the morning. It's. very.  _healthy!"_ He brought the blade up in the air and then down with extreme speed.

Sweden sidestepped out of the way on the nick of time, blade moving an inch close to his face and hitting the ground loudly, cracks spreading under his feet. Denmark grinned, didn't waste a second and spun his body, pulling the blade around and upwards, which Sweden had to force himself away again, ducking so it wouldn't cut his neck.

This was a lot faster than he remembered…?! His steps faltered, almost losing his balance as he backed away. He  _already_  felt tired, he could feel his temperature rising fast to produce enough energy as his energy levels were long depleted, wasted with healing.

"You're a lot slower than I remember!" Denmark shouted as he ran towards him, ready for another high-swing. Too quick for Sweden to move again, he resorted to ducking to avoid the blade and holding the handle himself, its sudden weight forcing his knee to hit the ground.

He scowled and pushed it up harder with one hand, forcing his body to produce more energy for that alone, which shot his temperature through the roof. He pulled his other hand back to throw a punch on Denmark's face, except he tilted his head and Sweden missed.

His eyes widened as Denmark spun quickly, Sweden's grip on the handle not nearly tight enough to hold it back and the butt of handle was soon back with full-force towards his face, which he pulled his upper body back to avoid, followed by a kick in the stomach which he was too slow to avoid, pushing him several feet away with the air kicked out of him abruptly.

"Already?!" Denmark shouted from where he stood as Sweden took deep breaths and coughed.

Temperature was already too high and Sweden could easily see steam from his breath.

"We barely even started! What is  _wrong_  with you?" Denmark appeared in his field of vision with a pout and huffed.

Sweden relaxed when seeing his laid-back posture and loose grip of his weapon. He laid an arm over his eyes as he continued breathing heavily.

"Tch…" He heard from his long-time enemy. "You're not the Nation I've been fighting with for most of my life. I was going  _so_  easy on you…! That's what you get for being  _too altruistic_." Denmark sighed and he could hear him sitting down beside him, his tone becoming softer and more lenient. "A Nation can't afford to be too human, you know…? Can't just… be nice and let people in just  _because._  I can't  _believe_  I have to tell you this…"

Sweden scoffed.

"It's true." Denmark continued. "We can't be like them and be  _endlessly_  careless and benevolent. Our existence depends on a certain level of selfishness and… I guess 'tribalism' fits well. We couldn't show weakness centuries ago and we can't do that nowadays either. Nothing changed and you  _know_  that. What you're doing is… It's suicide, Sve."

As if he didn't know that…! Sweden gritted his teeth and felt his nails digging into his palm as anger built up. Show weakness and someone or some people will take advantage of it.

He was stupidly optimistic back when he ignored this fact. Let his tolerance with his own citizens push him in the wrong direction.  _Altruism…_

Denmark remained silent for a few more seconds. "I remember… back in the war,  _that_  one," Denmark began again, his tone a bit more serious. "I remember a  _lot_  of my Jews fled towards your country. You…  _really_  didn't like them. Didn't want them here, did ya? Even turned quite a few away, right back to the German boys. You wanted to be neutral, right? Cute excuse to not do anything…"

He didn't want war anymore… Sweden stayed quiet, biting the inside of his lip.

"Is  _that_  what this is about?  _Guilt,_  over not doing anything in the face of evil?" Denmark waited for an answer, but of course, he got none. "Were Muslims the 'new Jews' for you…?" No answer. Denmark sighed.

That's something Sweden wondered as well… He was really intolerant, he was really anti-Semitic back then. He used to thrive with confrontations and wars, and after getting rid of that vice, he didn't care for any human who wasn't his, he focused on his people… and…  _solely_  on his people.

These aren't the signs of a good  _person._ Selfishness. But were these signs of a good  _Nation…?_ He didn't actually know anymore. It was conflicting.

Sweden moved his arm away from his eyes, squinting at the sunlight. Denmark still sat beside him, and seemed to be rustling the grass with a frown. Sweden looked to the side and saw that indeed, it was losing its greenish color. Hopefully, Denmark wouldn't-

"…See here, this is not good, Sve. You're taking  _livskraft_  from plants already… You better get it together, I don't want to deal with a new neighbor who'll probably hate my guts."

He blinked at him, while Denmark stood and patted his clothes. Sweden's expression was one of confusion, so Denmark soon took notice.

"Hm? Same thing was happening to Mama before she left. Don't take a genius to figure out how it works. You're running too low and now your body is drawing from other sources other than humans. Simple." He extended a hand to Sweden, who still stared incredulously. "Everything living has livskraft, after all."

How did he know these things…?

He moved to stand without Denmark's help, however, he found out how exhausted he actually was and fell back on the ground. Denmark rolled his eyes and hooked a hand under his arm, pulling Sweden along. "Too tired to walk…?" He scoffed, his tone amused as he dragged him back. "Oh, buddy, how you've fallen. You should talk to Norge, though. He knows a lot more about this 'Nation biology' stuff than I do."

Sweden sighed and let himself be dragged, It wasn't like he could voice any complaints. But Denmark had a point… Maybe  _Norway_  could help him, if he knew as much as Denmark alluded him to… He's never been told such things, though…

"Hey, humie whose name I don't know yet!" Denmark called loudly as he approached the now doorless doorway of his house. He'd have to fix that soon… The window, too. "Get this guy some ice and water!"

Erik stopped pacing in the living room and looked back at them with frantic eyes, phone lowering from his ear. "Oooh, what did you  _do…?!"_

"He's fine! He's fine." Denmark waved him off, pulling Sweden over to the couch and dropping him over it.

Erik was quickly by his side. "Oh god, are you okay? I-I called my cousin, I didn't know what to do! Y-You're burning up, by the way, i-is there anything I can do, is this normal?! I-!"

Sweden stared blankly at the ceiling, taking a deep breath and then letting it out, seeing less steam than before. Good, he was cooling down at least.

"Just get some ice in a bag and some water, will ya?" Denmark told him again as he placed his axe beside the armchair he sat on. "The guys needs it,  _now_."

"Oh," Erik looked back and forth between them, Sweden waved him off tiredly, which was enough confirmation that this was okay to the kid. "Okay, okay, be right back!" He hurried off towards the kitchen.

"Hurry up, humie!"

"It's  _Erik!"_

Sweden ignored Denmark's obnoxious laughter as he asked 'Is that your maid?'. As much as he wanted to ask what else he wanted besides being a nuisance, he didn't feel like getting up and looking for something he could write with… The laughter died down. "…Don't stand too close to humans for too long, by the way. They're pretty rich in livskraft, especially when they're young."

Sweden blinked as his heart skipped a beat, eyes widening a bit.

_"You take the life that should have been ours!"_

What Åsa said… Was it…  **true?**

Then Denmark suddenly appeared in front of him, interrupting his moment of horrified reflection. "Oh, I forgot to mention, everyone else was also looking for you and I already told them where to go. Then Norge can have a look at your problem. Can't believe you hit your limit so quickly…!"

Words barely made it through for a few seconds, Sweden blinked repeatedly to focus on Denmark instead who backed away a bit.

"I think I got  _really_  lucky. If you weren't in Stockholm, I probably would  _still_  be wandering around." He grinned.

Sweden raised an eyebrow. Was he walking with that weapon around his capital…?! His eyes darted to said weapon, and so did Denmark's.

"Oh, that. Uh, well." He shrugged. "It kept the brown people away at least."

Erik was back with a cup of water and an ice pack, but stopped when hearing this, staring. Sweden stared as well.

Denmark looked back and forth between them, confusion evident. "What?!"

* * *

**Dresdner (UTC +2) 4:06 p.m.**

Prussia took a sip from his beer as he watched the scene in front of him. It was loud, but not enough to be uncomfortable, with some trumpet sounds every now and then and cheery chatting. He sat calmly on the roof of a shop, a small one-floor establishment, although those passing close by couldn't quite spot him from under the roof of the veranda in front of the shop, and from a distance, he was just a hooded guy sipping a beer and enjoying the show.

Prussia was fine with that. He just wanted to watch the march. Watching marches was fun after all. Seeing so many proud Germans in one place was always strangely satisfying.

Besides the few reporters with their cameras, independent or mainstream, he also occasionally spotted cops hanging around, too. Prussia scoffed. As if his brother's citizens would cause too much trouble, especially in a march in favor of his country… Because that's what this was. It was love from his citizens. They marched and protested with flags because they loved this country.

His brother wanted nothing to do with it, though.

Prussia shook his head. Idiot, didn't know how good he had… Prussia greatly missed the feeling of patriotism, it was a comforting and warm feeling that made a Nation feel like they've truly found happiness, like they've done something  _right,_  and Prussia missed it dearly.

Right then, he spotted a familiar black and white flag warped around a chatty young man's shoulders, and he blinked to make sure he actually saw it. "Oh, nice…" The grinned to himself, chuckling.

The Prussian flag was still a strong German  _symbol._  He couldn't say it wasn't flattering to see it. It always was. It stroked his ego to be recognized as an important parent Nation, even though Germany was his little brother, not  _son_ … It was a weird idea today, but it wasn't always like that.

His king at the time had said the young newborn Nation was  _his child,_  however, many of his… now  _late_  brothers were involved as well… As much as Prussia liked to gloat, it was unfair for him to take all the credit for this one.

No…

They were  _all_  brothers, and Germany was simply the youngest. They all loved him as a little brother. The kid didn't really remember all of them that well, though…

His grip on the bottle tightened as his brothers appeared in his mind, memories he sometimes wished to forget. He'd lost too many people to count… His ear twitched when he heard a crack, his hand slacked. "Oh, woah. Good beer almost wasted…!"

As he inspected the half-empty bottle, making sure he could still drink it without the glass falling apart, some young men seemed to have stopped by the shop's entrance beneath him, talking loudly enough for him to hear.

 _"-just what they said, can you believe it?"_ Somewhat young, male…

 _"Nation doesn't wanna show up, of course I believe it…"_ A bit younger, also male.

 _"Why, though?"_ Even younger than the last two, male as well.

 _"Chancellor Marwin said he's 'too busy with work'. Now, do I_ believe _her…?"_

Prussia raised an eyebrow and approached the ledge to hear them better.

 _"Well, even if that's not quite the case, why_ would _he want to show up? You know what's waiting for him out here. It's a den of wolves. 'Is the Nation a Nazi?', geez… It's like they can't wait to tear him apart."_

_"I, for one, don't think the guy's a Nazi, but… argument doesn't hold to scrutiny when we don't know much about him… Why not try and clear that up? He looks like the type."_

_"Well, look at it logically. If he_ was _, then that means he's feeling guilty, so now he's afraid of being called a fascist or racist or something – like everybody else – so he's afraid of the Press and hides from it. Makes sense, right?"_

Prussia nodded in resignation as he sat back. "Yep. That's about it." He muttered.

_"If he's afraid of being called fascist or racist at all, then what the hell was that video? Is that really someone's who afraid of the media?"_

_"Yeah, that really doesn't make that much sense_   _…"_

Prussia grinned, raising his volume. "That's because you're talking about the wrong guy."

The conversation below stopped suddenly. After a few seconds, the oldest speaker walked into his field of vision with a curious expression, eyes widening when seeing Prussia staring dully at nothing in particular. "Oh…! You are-"

" _Not_  who you're talking about, no." Prussia interrupted as the other two came to look too. "That would be my…" He sighed tiredly, shaking his head in pity. " _stupid_  and  _deluded_  little brother."

"Then who-?"

The youngest, a teenager, pointed with a grin. "You're the guy from that video, you beat up the Muzzies!" Is that a slur?

"I didn't  _beat_  them up!" Prussia defended. "I  _subdued_  them."

"Looked like a beating to me." The middle one said and Prussia gave up, muttering 'If only they hadn't fought back so much…'. "It's got millions of views already!"

"Woah, feels like I've lived my  _entire_  life for this one achievement." Prussia said, sarcasm obvious as he chuckled and stood, jumping down and startling the men. Prussia grinned as he walked away, a hand in his jacket's pocket,  _to_   _look_   _cool_.

"Hey, hey! Uhm… Would you mind if I…?"

"Asked some questions?" Prussia stopped, tapped his foot as he thought for a second, hand nudging his chin in a cartoonish manner. "Hmm…" He turned and his grin widened. He took a last swig of his beer and then tossed the now empty bottle to the youngest. "Get rid of that, get me some cigs,  _then_  we can talk."

The two oldest ones sputtered. "W-Why?"

"Well, you see?" Prussia crossed his arms with a contemplative look and tone. "Recently I got this  _distaste_  for people who get things for free… So…" He gestured with his now empty hands, making circle movements to generalize his point.

"Ah," The youngest stood straight as understanding hit him. "Fair enough." He saluted quickly – which made Prussia salute back, almost on reflex – and then ran off to the nearest trashcan.

"See? The kid got it."

The other two looked at each other and shrugged. **"** Fair enough. **"**  Both said and walked back to the shop behind.

"Get a lighter too!" Prussia snickered quietly.

.

Cigarettes are nice.

Not very healthy for humans. In fact,  _very_  unhealthy for humans, as they found out on their own volition. But it wouldn't kill a Nation, so it was nothing but a calming stick. His body got rid of all the questionable elements on its own, just like it did with poison or even metals, and he could just relax.

No harm done.

"It's nice to have minions, you know?"

"You're being kind of a jerk now." The oldest, Minion One said.

"I am a jerk to  _everybody_." Prussia pointed out. "I don't discriminate."

"So why do we have two Nations?" The middle one, Minion Two, butted into the conversation.

"I keep the east side, my brother keeps the west side, sorta. It's just complicated, let's say." The entire country is still his brother's, but  _technically_ , the east side was Prussia's. "No wonder no one knows anything, it's like he doesn't even want to clear that up."

"So he's really hiding?" Youngest Minion Three wondered suddenly.

Prussia took a long drag from his cigarette, nodding. "In a way, yeah. He's so ashamed he probably can't even stand in front of a goddamn  _mirror_  for too long. He likes to pretend and act like a normal person, but I  _know_  when something's wrong. I raised him, after all." Hitler and the Nazi regime…  _really_  did a number on his little brother's mental health. "He's totally fucked up in the head, and dear Marwin and her little followers take  _full_  advantage of it. That, my minions, is what I call a  _witch."_

Maybe he went through too much for his age… Maybe that's why he wasn't showing signs of recovering. Germany was barely 100 years old. Nothing but a child who grew up too quickly… The worst wars humanity has ever caused make up half of his  _entire_  life, after all.

"That's… Wow… Witch indeed…" Minion One stuttered. "Why… not try a psychologist or something…?"

Prussia shrugged. "Chancellor Adenauer got him to sit down to talk to one back in… 49, I think, but uh… West gave up on that and… just started  _working,_  all the time. Never talked about the past. Or so I heard, I was stuck as a  _Communist_  on the other side." He scoffed. "I deserved it, of course, but still." He muttered the last part, shrugging.

"Well… You weren't in favor of… genocide… right?"

"No, no, not really. As far as I'm concerned, blaming Jews was just a big excuse. Hitler already hated them, why not throw them under the bus as well?" He rolled his eyes, sighing. "When Nations are suffering…" Prussia turned to them, still walking. "just give them the  _reason_  for their suffering. Real or not, they'll seek blood on their own, no questions asked." He smirked cynically. "Same with humans, really."

Not everyone was on board, of course, Prussia being one of them. West was not for genocide, of course, he didn't even know it was on Hitler's agenda for the longest time, but he didn't try to stop the creation of camps, never questioned it… Too busy getting drunk on nationalism to bother…

Prussia turned back around, blowing smoke upwards.

"But if you weren't in favor of it and were just following orders, well, to say you  _deserved_  anything, isn't that a bit much…?" Minion Three asked, walking a bit faster, closer to Prussia, who smirked. "I mean… You don't seem like a bad guy…"

Heh, most people reach the opposite conclusion.

"Kid, one way or another, Nations pay for their transgressions,  _independently_  of their intentions. Humans don't decide that with a hammer. It just happens." Prussia stopped. "Call it whatever you want. God, fate, karma, or  _cosmic retribution,_  we always pay our dues, by our own hands or… by the hands of humans and Nations. I paid mine, 40 years under Communist rule and as a slave to a crazy Russian who  _really_  hated my guts." He chuckled and turned to them. "As far as I'm concerned, I'm clean. Already paid for every sin before the Great Wars by losing almost everything I ever held dear. My kingdom, my wife, my name, most of my family. All gone." He made a calm sweeping gesture, his smile compliant.

You step over others for long enough, and your dues will come to take back what you  _stole_. Like the universe just correcting itself. Prussia simply followed the patterns to reach this conclusion, only accepting it after that fateful war.

The longer you take to pay, the worse it's going to be for you.

Humans would always fight, and because of that, Nations would always step over the line. That means… Nations would always be paying back for transgressions. Back and forth, back and forth… Constant exchange until something  _finally_  kills them.

That's just how life works for Nations.

His minions didn't seem as accepting of this as he was. In fact, they looked quite horrified, silent amongst the rabble right beside them. Understandable, Prussia thought. The world they live in, from their perspective, was a world where their family and loved ones weren't punished for their misdeeds, where slavery wasn't real anymore, and where… their  _names_  would always be rightfully theirs and  _no_   _one_  could take that from them.

"What's… your name?"

Some Nations liked to pretend their name was separate from their country. Only theirs and theirs alone. Their country was just named after them. Prussia kindly called that a load of bullshit.

If a country doesn't exist, and its Nations is still alive… then that Nation had no  _real name._  Prussia could pretend and have others call him 'Prussia', but… it just wasn't the same, and he knew that because he  _felt_  that.

He was possibly the only one who ever felt that.

Prussia didn't pay attention to who asked that question. He threw the cigarette on the ground and stepped on it. "Preussen." Their eyes widened. The greatest German symbol, everyone knew that. "Like I said, clean. Expected to die right after the war, West still had things he needed to pay for, so why not lose his brother? Heh, didn't quite go like that." He shrugged and continued moving calmly.

"…But Western Germany flourished economically after the war… Is what's happening  _now_  payment?" Minion One asked cautiously, gesturing around the march, moving faster than them and would most likely leave them behind if they kept their current pace.

Prussia glanced at these people, all excited or angry, even. The march happened because these people wanted to send a message. A response to a perceived threat. Was payment the threat?

"No." Prussia responded easily. "What's happening now has nothing to do with that. West paid by his own hands, I believe. Not only he suffered in silence and worked tirelessly for  _decades_  on his own, he also did something else…" He slowed down until he stopped, turning half-way and tapping his foot as he glared at the floor as he lit himself another cigarette. "Hmm… I'm not sure this is my secret to tell…" He nudged his chin in thought. "But… it's not like he'll ever come out in the open about this, will probably think everyone will call him a liar. Paranoid brat…"

He doubted Germany ever spared a thought to what happened on  _that night._  He might have forced himself to forget, somehow. After a few seconds, he decided.  _'Fuck it. It needs to be said.'_

"You know," Prussia began. "If Hitler had stayed and fought 'till the bitter end, he'd have been loyal, at the  _very least._  I would have given him  _that_. But, no,  _no_. That… cowardly sack of  _scheisse_ ran away instead." He hissed in distaste.

His claim hit his audience straight on. "Wait, wait, he didn't…" Minion Two sputtered suddenly.

"Commit suicide?" Minion Three continued, sounding very aghast.

"As if he had the guts!" Prussia spat. "No, he ran away, abandoned us and left us to die. Got his own minions and set off to a sub, wanted to disappear somewhere in the South American continent, from what I heard. What kind of scum runs away from a war they  _started…?!_  If only I knew beforehand, I would have shot the fucker  _myself."_

But he wouldn't, not truly, no…

Prussia took a drag from the cigarette before speaking again, his young minions silent with total shock. "But… he didn't escape, after all… West… he went after them. Every single soul in that submarine went to  _Hell_  that night, and when my brother was back, he had no bullets left. Hasn't  _touched_  a gun since."

That was Germany's redemption. Not Prussia's. When he was back days later, in front of impatient Allied Nations who had been looking for him… he seemed to have given up on living entirely… What he lost that day was something Prussia couldn't quite understand…

It wasn't very common for a Nation to kill their own leader. Some say it's a soul-wrenching act, no matter the circumstances.

Prussia doesn't know what happened day. Doesn't know if that man told his brother anything. But he knows death was delivered. However many bullets his little brother had left at that moment, that man received them all.

Looking back at his shocked audience, he smirked lightly with narrowed eyes. "Now isn't that a more fitting end to that war…?"

They'd certainly managed to spread this. Prussia could have talked to a reporter, he's certain there were a few in the middle of the now dispersing crowd, but… it was better to not set out with a mission. He just  _happened_  to bump into some people who asked him questions.

He answered their questions and wow, look at  _that…_

Prussia would continue to walk and dismiss further conversation. They would try to ask him more frantic questions, but he already said a lot more than he should have and was now off to get a drink somewhere.

But hey… Now more than ever, people didn't need more lies. Germany needed to be  _understood._  Prussia wanted his people to understand him, because Germany wouldn't reach out on his own.

They needed to reach out to him. A Nation abandoned by their people is as good as dead… Unless, they're as  _awesome_  as Prussia, of course…

What a nice day that was…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More context and information in the original News Feed entry on FF.net once uploaded.


	23. Mediatic Preparation

**Manhattan – Broadway (UTC -4) 2:26 p.m.**

"Huh…" America nodded to himself, hands in his pockets as he looked up at the building and its huge neon sign, which was turned off at this time and looking somewhat dreary under the cloudy sunless weather.

It looked like it would rain soon, a little relief from the few unusual hot days before.

It had been a while since he stepped foot in New York. He remembers not liking to stay for too long, since the city gave him insomnia. So his stays were usually just for business, which was why he was there once again. This particular building, however, was another story. "Haven't been here since Eddie hosted the show…" He mumbled as he looked around.

Back in the 50's, the Late Night Show was just starting, and America always appreciated the success of his capitalistic society, wherever that success came from. The entertainment industry was no exception. In fact, he was particularly proud of it.

Humans loved it, it made them happy in a way Russia would never experience, as far as he was concerned. He was busy watching his people starve in collective misery, while America watched his laugh with delight.

America sighed, looking down at his feet, tapping one in thought. Oh, the arrogance… He was still right, of course, but shoving it in people's faces wasn't very nice.

Well, the past is the past now. Time to move on, he told himself and walked forward, keeping his hands in his pockets and keeping it quiet as he went to an alternative entrance to the side, unnoticed, where he could access the staff area.

No one was looking for him yet, so, simply  _walking in_  was easy.

America huffed in satisfaction and put up a smile. Time to face the wild, then.

Before contacting anyone at the front, he wanted to wander around the backstage for a little while, maybe not contact the security and management at all if possible. Quite honestly, it was because he wasn't sure what to say, this entire experience was strange. He was eager to get into his famous people's world for the first time ever, of course, but he still had that nagging feeling in the back of his head.

So once inside, he decided to act on his whims. Ignore weird feelings and just go with it.

Most people were really not supposed to walk around there, as the backstage was almost maze-like and it was easy to get lost, but America knew the layout – and he hoped no one had somehow changed it in the last few decades.

He passed by doors and people who took little notice of him before moving on. Too busy with their own jobs for now. He knew the Control Room was downstairs, so he avoided the stairs that led him down. Instead, he went up, reaching a quaintly decorated corridor with a red carpet and passing by glass doors through which he could see the front stage from the top of the audience seats where he was.

He whistled to himself. It's really been a while. The set changed a lot, indeed…

Before he could continue walking, he spotted a cart with food right on the stage. Oh, those little snacks people can smooch on while they work… America licked his lips and looked around. Well…

Why not?

He shrugged and went inside, walking like he belonged there – act like you belong and you  _will_ belong – down the steps that cut through the seats, quickly waltzing by unnoticed. The staff walking back and forth was minimal. Just light checkers, cameras were turned off with their handlers not present or checking their equipment, with one or other security technicians.

Ignoring all the  _vegan_  stuff – America couldn't bring himself to call it 'food', being a proud carnivorous and all – he grabbed a plate of delicious-looking spring rolls. He watched his step so he wouldn't make a sound and walked back out of the stage area with his new plate of snacks, finding his way out and towards the stairs again where he went further  _up_  to the VIP seats, from where he could see the entire stage.

He smirked to himself. Humans are so blind… Now he just had to wait for his guy.

He sat down and stopped when he heard his phone, ringing in a low volume. He didn't want anyone being drawn to his presence by the noise. He quickly munched on a spring roll as he pulled the device from his pocket, propping his feet over the railing in front of his seat.

His brother from down  _south_  was calling. America raised an eyebrow. Australia? He doesn't call him that often, but he shrugged and picked up the call. "Hm," He swallowed his food first. "Hey, wazzup, bro?"

_"Heey, Yankee! You busy?"_

America rolled his eyes at the nickname. "No, not now, not yet. Need anything?" He'd never met Australia back when he was a colonial Nation, much less after gaining independence, as England had only got the kid a little while after that.

He only first heard about the guy from Canada, occasionally, before their big fallout, then only much later he met him.

It made America feel glad that he got out of England's control so quickly. The kid had so little experience, despite not being that much younger that America himself…

_"Err… 'need' isn't the right word. You're having that interview soon, aren't you?"_

"Uhum." America nodded, nibbling on another spring roll. Good thing he didn't accumulate any fat, because he was clearing that whole plate…

 _"Well, so am I, in a few weeks, and I was wondering…"_ Australia stopped for a second.  _"since you're kind of a media expert, I thought maybe I could ask for some wisdom?"_

America narrowed his eyes in confusion. "I'm a 'media expert' now?" Then he chuckled lightly. "I guess, I know how our media works, a lot better than most Nations."

_"Exactly! See, I feel like I'm overlooking something, I don't know my guys that well, but it's almost like they're plotting something…!"_

"Oh, they are." America nodded, one leg crossing over the other as he leaned back and continuing to eat. "They certainly are. Don't you have a few magnates and politicians who… just seem to  _hate_  your guts? Like, for  _no_  reason?"

 _"Yeeeah…?"_ Came the hesitant response.  _"You have them too?"_

"Yup. I'm guessing they just don't like Nations." America shrugged and then blinked as his mind went off the tangent suddenly. "Can  _that_  be considered racist…?" He snickered.

_"Please, don't, Yankee, I'm sick of people talking about that…"_

America winced lightly. "Sorry, I'm tired of that too…  _Anyway,_  since some people with money and influence hate us, they'll just use the media against us. We're horrible, we've killed people, we've caused wars, we're racists, whatever they can throw at us, they will, as soon as they have the opportunity. So just be careful to not give them too much ammo."

 _"…Can I just copy_  your _strategy? I know you have one, you always do."_ Australia sounded so tired, America guessed his media was already getting on his nerves.

From what America knows, Aussie didn't  _quite_  like dealing with people. He seemed to prefer animals to humans.

America hummed in thought, eyes wandering over the ceiling with its metal catwalks and supports, and the lights pointed at the stage. "I'm not sure you have the guts. I mean, it's much easier for you to just be non-controversial and not cause too much trouble."

 _"What? I do have guts!"_  He defended. _"What_  are _you doing?"_

"I'm skirting close to the fire, brother." America grinned, picking up another spring roll.  _"Veeery_  close to the fire."

* * *

**Near Melbourne (UTC +10) 4:32 a.m**

Australia narrowed his eyes, confused, and leaned back in the hammock he was laying on. "Aren't you getting into trouble?" He drew his knees just a bit closer, keeping steady the iPad where he scrolled through the news.

He lived pretty far from the city, on a ranch of his own, and he was under the roof of the patio at the front of the spacious house, all illuminated by all the lights he left on. Especially at this time, in the middle of the night. Good thing Nations didn't have to sleep as much as humans, otherwise contacting his brother at an appropriate time would've been much more annoying…

He was a  _bit_  worried about being found, but since he had a tall and solid fence circling his propriety, he didn't worry about anyone getting too close.

Even in case of ill-intentioned invaders, the dirt path that led to his home, connected to a long highway most people tended to just drive by without much thought, had plenty of signs with warnings. Dingoes and venomous snakes wandered around pretty often, one of which was a Tiger Snake now loosely warped around his neck. The yellow and black cobra didn't seem bothered by anything, and the animals around and inside his house were very accustomed to him.

The animals of his homeland were usually really nice to him.

_"Trouble? Sure, but the media doesn't scare me. I'm sure plenty of your people would side with you if you slip and get yourself into a corner. We certainly look human enough to trigger that empathy."_

Australia bowed his head with a sigh of defeat. "You sound like my politicians. Always fussing about the media and how to avoid trouble." He tapped on a different news article, something about his possible 'tragic past', younglings have been speculating a lot about his 'victim status' at the hands of his father…

Australia didn't quite mind the physical roughness back then. Being a Nation, he could handle it, even as a child.

What he  _did_  mind was the more… psychological punishments, like being locked in a small and dark closet whenever he misbehaved too badly… while Australia was absolutely  _terrified_  of small and dark spaces.

 _"It's how the game works. Look, if you want my advice, relax and let them know you'll always want the best for your country, and if the, uh, the 'crazy-crowd' starts to push you, stand your ground and_ never apologize." His brother stressed the last two words heavily. _"That's very important. They're all brats after all, they can't hurt you or get you fired, and your government can't force you to do anything that could put you in harm's way. Our system is much better than the European Servitude system, so you're free enough to do this, right?"_

"Hm…" Australia glared at the Pad once he clicked on another article, this time it was a somewhat negatively biased article that weighted on his consciousness. He wasn't  _xenophobic_ , certainly not just because of his  _species._  Where did they get that idea…? "Easier said than done. Not everyone is an endless well of 'charisma and charm'."

 _"That's what they're saying about me or you're the one saying it?"_ He heard a muffled laughter, but Australia didn't find it so funny and shook his head.

"Don't you read the news about you?"

 _"Why waste my time? I know what they're saying. I'm either the poor oppressed minority under humanity's iron boot or the oppressing face of the patriarchy and all its 'intersecting systems of oppression', heh. Outside the media bubble, there are those who already like me a lot because they know me or know someone who knows me and all, and everyone else seems to be withholding judgment until they hear what I have to say, but so far, so good. I just need to leave a good impression on_  all _possible allies in one clean swoop."_

"You did leave quite the impression when visiting Taiwan and getting into a fight with  _China_." Australia smirked. America has always been the type who likes to meddle in other people's affairs. Even when he wanted to stay away, like during the Great Wars. He couldn't stay out of the issue in the end, no matter how much he wanted to.

_"I didn't look half-bad doing it. I'm diplomatic and I stopped the fighting without too much of a hassle. Also, Taiwan likes me. She won't talk shit about me."_

Australia then heard a tiny little noise under the hammock and blinked, looking over to the side. "She does, really does." He leaned to the side and stretched a hand for the squeaking tiny creature. His pet quokka wanted food. "Thanks to you, we have gossip around our  _love lives_  now." His Tiger Snake seemed to move in the small quokka's direction, as if thinking about pouncing, but Australia shushed it, pulling it back as he moved out of his hammock. "What's so fascinating about that…?"

 _"Hm, you know humans, they're crazy about sex._   _"_

"I never understood what's all the fuss about, to be honest," Australia laughed as he picked up the small marsupial, just a bit smaller than a domestic cat, and carried it inside.

_"I think I prefer just going to a stadium during Super Bowl and soaking in all that happiness. Lasts a lot longer and it's less… sticky."_

"Absobloodylutely…!" Australia grinned as he put the little one on the table, then pulled the snake lightly from his shoulders. It took the hint and slithered off, somewhere where it could find a rat or something to gulp down. "People tell me I sound awfully  _high_  afterwards, so my government doesn't like me going to stadiums on game day." He scoffed, going to the kitchen and rummaging inside the upper cabinets. "Daft cows… I think they'd be happier if I just shagged someone instead. Less  _inhuman_." He found a sack of peanuts. "It can't  _possibly_  be better than national championship finals."

_"If one can't sense the collective emotional motherlode of a full stadium, I think sex would probably the next best thing."_

Australia hummed. It sounded like his brother knew this from experience, but he just shrugged."Well, humans gotta multiply, I guess, so it works for them."

* * *

After a short laugh, America sighed. "Anyway, uh… Dad visited you a while ago, right?" This whole conversation about humans and their fascination with drama and love reminded him that he still wanted to sort things out with the old man. He felt like the sooner he heard his side of the story, the sooner they could put this whole thing behind them.

_"Uh, yeah. He had a hissy fit like a nutter and I ended up paying for the damages. Lucky that bar-owner didn't decide to press charges…"_

"Hissy fit? Why?"

_"Because of you."_

America blinked, smiling hesitantly. "Whaaat…? Me?"

 _"You were with him on the phone at the time."_ Was the drawled response.

Right. That time… "Aaah… I remember. Sorry, d-do you want money?" He offered awkwardly.

_"No, it's fine. Although, now people know how rude and freaky he can be when angry. Also, a lot of people think I'm a victim of child abuse of something."_

America frowned in confusion. "What? From  _dad_ , really? He was such a soft-heart sometimes, I really don't see-"

_"Only with you."_

"Huh?"

_"With you. He was a soft-heart with you. Then you left and he turned into the worst. father. ever."_

America narrowed his eyes. He wanted to argue that he was already the worst back when they first started fighting, but he felt that his brother would have a different definition of 'the worst'. "Way to make me feel guilty, man…" He whined lightly as he looked over at the stage area.

 _"Well, I don't_ really _blame you."_ There was a pause.  _"Not anymore, that is."_

'Not anymore', so he did before. "Well,  _I'm sorry_ , if that's what you want to hear." He rolled his eyes. It's not that he didn't feel bad. But he wasn't about to start regretting his choices just because his dad decided to turn into an asshole out of spite. That wasn't America's fault.

Right then, he saw a suited man walk around the stage, and he raised an eyebrow. That was his guy. Good ol' Stevens. Although, the first thing he could hear from the man was 'where are my spring rolls?!', and America winced, looking at the empty plate on the seat beside him.

* * *

"That's okay, you're not responsible for what he did afterwards." Australia replied, just a bit distracted as he walked back to his hammock, adjusting back into his previous position in it. "But… hasn't Canada ever said anything about this, by the way?"

 _"Uh, no? We didn't talk a lot after 1812."_ He meant 'at all'.  _"And we didn't really want to talk about the past after we got our shit sorted out."_  A century or so later, if Australia wasn't mistaken.

"Hm…" He picked up the tablet again, refreshing the page to see the newest piece of news. More whining about Nations being a little  _too_  quiet and more whining about letting humans speak for them instead of doing it themselves.

Well, excuse you… Nations aren't exactly used to this attention. Before Australia could open his mouth to complain about this, he heard what sounded like a sharp gasp on the other side of the line. He blinked. "Yankee?"

 _"Oh, uh… I gotta go, Aussie. See ya in July!"_ The line cut off and Australia stared at the phone, raising an eyebrow.

"July, then." Australia sighed dramatically to himself. Next family reunion would certainly be one of  _those_ and Australia was not looking forward to it _._ America was hosting this time, so first week of July, which was next month, would be just them, and their ever-so-dysfunctional family.

He looked back inside, where he quickly saw a bird of prey resting on the table, probably came through one of the many open windows, its head tilting at the cowering little marsupial hiding inside the bag of peanuts. Looking for a nightly snack, it seems. "Hey, hey, don't you  _dare!"_  He left his hammock and ran to avoid  _another_  accident.

It's always such an issue when his bigger pets just ate the smaller ones.

* * *

"Okay, easy there, man!" America huffed in annoyance as he was pulled by the arm. Security was passing by a little too closely while he chatted on the phone, so inevitably, he got himself caught with no visible card or anything that let them know he was allowed to  _be_  there.

On paper, he was a guest, but that wasn't the issue.

It seems the security guard was taking a different route, because he was dragging America relatively close to the stage area, going down the stairs that passed through the audience seats towards a door at the bottom.

"I know you're just doing your job and all, but I'm actually  _supposed_  to be here," It didn't seem like the man was even listening to him, he seemed downright  _bored_  and annoyed, although America found it very unprofessional that he didn't bother patting him down for weapons, but maybe that was lucky, because America  _was_  actually armed.

"Does anyone know where our guest is?!" He heard from the stage, seeing Stevens looking around with a phone in hand.

"Oh, right here, actually!" America raised his hand with a grin. The security was still holding his other arm when everyone seemed to immediately look at him, and from this angle, the guard could finally see his gun under the jacket, as his eyes widened like dinner plates.

Right then, America was tackled.

.

"Ah, ha-ha, I'm  _so_  sorry about that. Being tackled by security really isn't part of our welcoming wagon activities."

"That's fine, I've had worse." America shook his head, smiling lazily as he massaged the back of his neck. "Didn't even hurt." It did a little, falling on stairs and against its 90 degrees sharpness wasn't very pleasant, but easy to recover from.

"Your hand suggests otherwise, but I'll believe you, you do seem tough." Stevens chuckled with his hands in his pockets. "Some of my predictions were way off, mind you, I hope I didn't offend you or anything, but you could play Captain America any day,  _that_  I got right." He waved a finger at the last few words, moving to sit behind his desk. America followed behind but didn't sit down just yet, preferring to stand and keep his hands in his pockets.

America didn't quite know the newest star of the Late Night Show, didn't have that much time available to watch TV these days, but at the moment, there was a certain level of  _caution_  from the man. "Offend me, you really didn't, I don't get offended easily, to be honest, so go crazy with whatever jokes you can think of."

"Oh, good, you wouldn't  _believe_  how many people go through here with me having to tip-toe around certain issues, but that's what backstage planning is for!" Stevens grinned and patted the desk. "We'll see what we can talk about so our audience can meet you properly." His face scrunched into a thoughtful frown. "I gotta say, though, it's  _really_  weird to meet you, uh, sir? Do I call you sir? You're older than me, right? 300  _years…?"_

"382." America grinned. "Not really an adult, though, so 'sir' is kinda…" He ruffled his hair, wincing lightly. "Yeah, just Alfred is fine."

Stevens made a surprised sound. "Okay, Alfred, not an  _adult?!_  What's an adult to you?!"

America shrugged. "500, of course, if you live that long, you get a pat on the back from everyone else, 'congrats, you know how to  _life_ , and we're used to you now, so be a proper grown up and don't die until we try to kill you'." He stopped for a second, wincing with a sheepish grin as he took a step back. "Nations are lovely people. Most of us are. Swear."

Stevens just laughed good-heartedly, no judgment that America could sense, but there was doubt. "Not from what I heard, to be honest. I expected something completely different than what I'm getting."

America then smiled somewhat smugly. "Hmm, let me guess," He sat calmly at the edge of the desk, adjusting his glasses. "The  _corporate overlords_  called to give you some 'warnings'?" America made quote signs with his fingers.

Stevens crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, a sliver of suspicion passing through as he briefly pointed at America with a pen. "What they told me is that you, my sir, has a  _devious_  silver tongue, and that I should be  _very_  careful when listening."

"I'll assume you're paraphrasing." America scoffed in amusement. "What they  _meant_  is that,  _because_  I am who I am, a Nation, I can 'manipulate' any American into believing what I say even if I'm lying. Well," He rolled his eyes, but kept his tone calm and careful. "that is just a load of shit. What I  _can_  do is stop you from  _rationalizing_  in front of me when I don't want you to. That's all."

Stevens tapped his chin with the pen, eyes narrowing slightly. He still seemed light-hearted and jokey in posture and face, but America could tell there was some acting involved in that. "That means, what exactly? I mean, you might not want to explain any of this on national television, but I don't really want to look like I'm being held hostage  _mentally_  by words, because you're… kinda freaking me out here."

At least he admitted.

America nodded in understanding. "What it means is that  _if_  what I tell you makes sense, you can't convince yourself that it doesn't."

Eyes darted away for a second before focusing on America again, suspicion was still lingering. "Isn't that the same thing?"

America let out a gust of air in frustration, then stared with a deadpan. "I'm a giant platypus with silver wings and purple horns. Your eyes are just lying to you."

Stevens blinked and stared for a few good seconds, confusion evident to both America and any other human even.

"You don't believe me because it doesn't make sense." America shook his head with a grin. "You know what I look like, there's no way your eyes can deceive you like that, so you  _know_  that was a lie. Same logic works for everything else." He shrugged. "I can't  _brainwash_  people." Not that quickly, at least.

"Hm, interesting… Do that again." Stevens suddenly seemed more fascinated than worried, which meant America got the job done.

"Two plus two equals five." Then he added with his best convincing tone and smirked with narrowed his eyes. "Trust me, you've been lied to."

"You're actually making me doubt my math skills, so that doesn't help your argument." Stevens raised an eyebrow, but suspicion seemed to be melting away, giving place to playfulness.

"Your lack of confidence in math's perfect logic is  _not_  my fault." America grinned and moved to sit on the couch instead, now that both were more at ease. He put one calf over his knee and leaned back comfortably.

"Perfect-?! It's devilish torture!"

America faked insult. "Don't insult my diva. Math is wonderful and it's beautiful!"

Stevens followed suit. "You  _impostor_ …! Americans hate math!"

"Lazy minds! I'm a genius, alright? I just see what they don't."

.

America had to say… He was fairly surprised that he was getting along so well with a TV star.

He knows that behind the screen is a completely different world with completely different people that the audience can't really see, and he figured he'd have to tip-toe around any television aristocrat he came across.

But this was a pleasant surprise. In the end, they just ended up joking around rather mindlessly for a while and unfortunately, they couldn't drink on set, even though Stevens tried ordering some. He was contractually obligated to remain sober when at work.

They could have cans of soda, though. Along with more spring rolls.

In fact, they were so busy with their conversation that not even the writers and producers had the heart to waltz up to them and get some work done. Instead, around seven people sat by the audience seats and watched as if it was a live show, laughing along with their jokes.

But alas, nothing could last in this world, and soon enough, their fun was over. The door at the bottom of the stairs swung open out of their line of vision and America could hear loud and abrasive steps.

A suited man in his late 20's appeared and immediately focused on them with an angry deadpan, but then stared only at America. "You and I, need to have a talk." The man pointed.

Everyone looking at the man turned to America.

America gritted his teeth behind his can of soda. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" He wondered in a snarky manner.

"Aah, Mister… Bradbury?" Stevens was thoroughly confused at the man's presence, clearly.

They know each other? America narrowed his eyes, but quickly eased his brows.

"Not now." Bradbury pointed at Stevens quickly, then turned to America again as he walked the steps up the stage. "You."

"Me?" America raised an eyebrow innocently.

Before Bradbury could say another word, Stevens stood from his seat. "I'll have to apologize, but this is still my set. Can we be civil here? You look like you're on a warpath."

Bradbury seemed to pull back at this, then shook his head. "Excuse me for barging in, but I needed to talk to Mr. Jones before this interview."

"That's okay, it's okay. Uh, how do you know each other…?"

America grinned almost menacingly. "We have a friend in common." He pointed at his right ear as he spoke without breaking eye contact with the suited  _fiend._

This man was the son of a corporate magnate. One who just happened to be  _friends_  with someone America  _really_  didn't like, a man who played with fire and got burned.

In this case, being burned was synonymous with losing an  _ear_. State of art medical care and plastic surgery can only fix the outer appearance, so that man wasn't forgiving America any time soon. He couldn't care less. In fact, America hoped it still hurt and regrets that he didn't get to  _kill_  him.

Past history aside, the young man in front of him was more bark than bite, so America wasn't worried about provoking him.

Bradbury scowled, understanding his reference. "Was  _that_  even necessary…?!"

"Here's the answer to that." He flipped him off. "Sorry, my other hand is busy so I couldn't do a double 'fuck you'." He switched the can to the other hand, finishing with another flip off, with a stretched smile and narrowed eyes. "There."

Stevens seemed downright alarmed by this display of animosity and also seemed unsure of what to say. He also saw their audience gape, but they seemed more fascinated and amused than outraged.

Bradbury frowned and gave the TV star no time to question him. "Just  _how_  do you get away with being so childish at your age?"

"I'm young at heart." America placed his hand over his chest mockingly, nodding.

"That explains a lot." Bradbury snarled and pulled America by the arm. "Come on, get up."

America rolled his eyes, groaning in annoyance, but got up either way, grinning back at a wide-eyed Stevens. "Excuse us while we talk about what I'm allowed to say on national television without getting into some  _serious_  trouble!"

Once they were a reasonable distance away, Bradbury let go and turned to him sharply, keeping his voice low. "What in the world are you planning here?" He narrowed his eyes.

America raised an eyebrow, tilting his head. "Why you assume I'm planning anything?"

"Don't play dumb with me. I've been told exactly what kind of…  _person_  you are." He spat.

"That's rude, I'm a  _wonderful_  person." America couldn't avoid the light tone of sarcasm. He narrowed his eyes when sensing  _fear_ from the man.

"Don't pretend you've changed. There are people alive today who have met you during the  _70's_  and  _80's!_ They know  _exactly_  how you truly are on the inside."

America rolled his eyes, sighing and then pursing his lips. He had no excuse to his 'Cold War Persona'. So he changed the subject to something inflammatory enough. "Why did you come here when you're so afraid of me?"

"I-I'm not  _afraid_  of you." Bradbury stuttered, taking a step back. "That's why I'm here."

"Unlike anyone else in your inner circles, right?" America droned with a smirk. "Did you draw straws or something?"

Bradbury ignored the comment – they did, didn't they…? – and pointed at him. "We know you're trying to pull something. In fact, some of us might say you're the one responsible for this whole information leak to begin with…!"

America gritted his teeth, batting the hand away. "Please. I wouldn't risk having all the other Nations turning against me for screwing their right to privacy. Hell,  _I_  don't like dealing with this shitstorm  _either."_

"You reacted oddly quickly to this whole thing."

"I'm just adaptable and proactive." America shrugged, keeping steady eye contact.

After half a second, Bradbury gasped softly and broke eye contact, scowling and pointing at America again. "Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"That. That thing you do.  _Stop it."_

America rolled his eyes again. "Looking away doesn't make a difference."

"Whatever. You're staying quiet about anything you might know, you hear me? You try saying  _any_  shit about us, and we'll not be pulling punches, because you have  _no_  legal right to say anything at all."

About all the elite and politicians who were up to no good, he meant. There was a saying, that if all money had to be clean before circulation, humans would still be living in caves. America could question the veracity of such a statement in a literal sense, but he wasn't about to question its overall meaning. He certainly wasn't about to pretend he was a moral paradigm when it came to money and economics.

He knew the shady aspect couldn't  _really_  be avoided. But they still looked bad to the general public.

With that said, America knew how the media monster could turn on him at any moment with this money, which is why he was skirting close to the fire with this interview.

He was going to be as ambiguous as possible, so both sides could speculate about whose side he was on, then let the 'underdogs' spread a good word for him so he didn't have to risk direct censorship.

Besides, all publicity is good publicity, if you knew what you were doing. Let them chase their own tail, America thought to himself.

"Don't worry," America began, stepping away from the man, with hands raised. "I'm not going crazy right off the bat. I don't have  _that_  much credibility yet."

Bradbury crossed his arms, leveling the Nation with a suspicious gaze. "Yet?"

America shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a likable guy." He grinned with narrowed eyes. He'd strive to have as much credibility as any Nation could have, actually. "I'm willing to compromise and negotiate to a certain extent, so you people don't have to worry so much. I don't hate most of you." America wasn't a communist, after all.

As long as they weren't demons in human form, like a certain someone missing an appendage, America was perfectly fine with negotiation. He didn't hate his entrepreneurs for being rich, anyway. Bradbury wasn't  _inherently_  bad, even though he associated with the wrong crowd. He was born there, after all and America couldn't find the strength to  _truly_  hate him.

This feeling of warm understanding must have reached the man, because after a second of silence, Bradbury grimaced and slapped his hands over his eyes. "Get  _out_  of my head."

America laughed. "Paranoid, aren't you? I'm not doing anything."

"So you say." Bradbury sighed and dropped his hands. "We're keeping an eye on you, Nation."

America shrugged. "That's fine,  _human_."

Bradbury huffed and walked away, stopping to apologize to an antsy Stevens who had been pacing.  _"Sorry for the interruption. May we talk for a second?"_

"Don't infect the guy with your paranoid conspiracy theories." America droned as he approached them. "I can't convince anyone of things that aren't truth. Get over it." Well, he could, if he was persistent enough and if the person didn't know any better… But he wasn't going to say that.

America didn't like being malicious to his own people, so this was a non-issue either way.

"Let the man be the judge of that." Bradbury snapped.

America glared.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, let's not fight over me, alright?" Stevens butted in nervously.

Both man and Nation huffed and looked away from one another. America sat on the armchair with both arms and legs crossed, while Bradbury gestured for Stevens to follow, away from America.

But even there, he was still glaring at America, who raised an eyebrow before realization dawned on him. "Oh, sorry." He pressed a finger inside each ear hard enough to obfuscate most of the noise. "You're safe now!" He assumed he was yelling.

Just a quick lip-reading, America could make out  _'He's got freaking 'bat-hearing' or something'_  from Bradbury, but quickly looked away. He really didn't feel the need to know what kind of fear-mongering the man was throwing at the TV star, America would just have to convince him of his innocence again if necessary. Piece of cake.

"Hmm…" America blinked lazily at nothing in particular. Bradbury still seemed to be glancing at his direction in suspicion and America briefly considered rupturing his own eardrums so the man would feel 'a bit safer', but as he mentally calculated the pros and cons, he decided that freaking the man out wasn't worth the pain and subsequent deafness, even if temporary. Also, he had agreed with the other Nations that they should avoid all non-human behavior.

Such as rupturing eardrums on purpose just to fuck with people.

He hummed a laugh in amusement at the thought. A minute or so seemed to have passed when he looked over at the two, patience already dwindling. Stevens seemed to be assuring Bradbury of something, although, to America, the man just seemed plain nervous and eager to get away.

Bradbury was… intense with his prejudice. For now, that was actually acceptable in civil society. America didn't quite care, he wasn't going to whine about it.

Once Stevens walked away, Bradbury sent another glare to America, pointing two fingers at his eyes, then at the Nation. America scowled and did the same thing back, prompting the man to scowl back and then walk to the audience seats with little grace to his step and posture.

"Good lord…" Stevens began as he sat behind his desk again, seemingly trying to ignore the whole childish display. "So, we're not allowed to talk about politics and… people with names! I guess that narrows down the list of safe-topics."

"Oh, I  _am_  allowed to talk about politics and people with names." America smirked as he watched Bradbury sit down and watch them with crossed arms and brows furrowed over his hard glare. The rest of the small audience occasionally glanced at him nervously. "As long as I agree with the established political norm aaand as long as I defend said people with names despite all the  _amazing_  crap I have on them." He shrugged, intertwined fingers resting on his crossed leg's knee.

Stevens nodded slowly with wide eyes, then relaxed. "Well, that's the same with everybody here." He leaned back on the seat. "I know that if I spout some even mildly conservative views, I can kiss my career good-bye." He laughed cynically.

"Too bad. I'd be considered fairly conservative nowadays." America shrugged.

Stevens blinked in surprise. "Are you conservative…?"

America hummed in thought. "My opinions haven't really changed a lot since I was young. Republic, decentralized and small government, capitalism, freedom of speech and religion, all of that, were considered  _pretty_  liberal back in the day, and therefore, so was I." He cupped his chin with his fingers. "I think  _you people_  are the ones who moved too far Left for me and maybe now I pretty much look like a conservative overall."

"They do say old people are usually more conservative."

"Old people are also wiser so maybe they're onto something."

"Please don't say that on the show… I'll get lambasted by the corporate overlords  _and_  by my audience."

As they laughed, he saw Bradbury narrow his eyes, tapping his foot like a disappointed parent. It seemed to break both out of their jokey mood, as the topic was obviously something the corporate heir didn't want them to talk about. America sighed and raised a hand close to his mouth to yell. "Don't you get tired of making everybody uncomfortable with your very presence?!"

Bradbury scowled more and shouted. "Don't  _you?!"_

" _I_ have an excuse!" America shouted back and huffed in annoyance.

Stevens winced at their little shouting match. "Aren't you supposed to love  _all_  Americans?"

"I'm not Jesus. The love's not perfect."

He always tried his best, although, some of his people really tested his patience…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More context and information in the original News Feed entry on FF.net once uploaded.


	24. Insight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains hardcore anti-Feminist bias and other shit that women don't really like to hear for some weird reason!
> 
> Also: Looking for co-writers to write historical one-shots on the NF AU, because while I want to write History Buff, I really have no time.

**Budapest (UTC +2) 5:50 p.m.**

Hungary stared worriedly at her phone, then sighed and lowered the device, looking ahead instead as she walked. She stopped directly in front of a double door and took a second to pat her skirt, a two-piece suit, a tad formal for a small meeting.

10 minutes early.

She rang the doorbell and waited patiently, eyes lingering on the flowers decorating the window sills. After a minute or so, the door was opened, not by a servant, but by the man himself. Hungary smiled. He knew she always arrived early.

"Elizaveta, right on time, as usual." The man smiled brightly.

Hungary smiled back and bowed. "Vincze, I thank you for tending to my worries on such short notice." She blinked and stood straight. "Oh, I'm sorry." She offered her hand for a handshake instead. "I always forget,  _this_  is the norm now."

How rude of her… A man had to wait for the woman to offer the hand first…

"Ah," Not bothered at all, Vincze, her  _Prime Minister,_  shook her hand. "not a problem, my dear. It's always refreshing to see Old Values being adhered to." He chuckled. "Come in now."

Shaking her head with a polite smile, Hungary walked past the man and waited for him to lead her to wherever their meeting would be held.

"So," The man began as he closed the door. "what is on your mind? Any valuable insight on the world around us?" He led her through the house, big as it was. Although she already knew the layout. The halls were brightly illuminated by the sunlight that shone through the windows.

"Insight…" She smiled softly as she followed the man at a steady and calm pace, her high-heels clacking in the silent home. "Nothing is exactly hidden, per se, my view on the matter isn't special to anyone who searches hard enough."

"Not when it comes to other Nations, though." Vincze shot back easily. They turned into a corridor with multiple doors, passing by racks and shelves, many which had books, photos, or football trophies, even. The man has always been a huge fan. "Our neighbors? All the others? Any news?"

Hungary frowned. "Nothing you can't probably guess. They just seem more… exhausted. Quick to  _bite_ …" Her tone became somewhat bitter.

It was like no one has been in a good mood for a long time, and she couldn't blame them.

"See… that could have been you…" The man murmured, stopping at a double set of doors. "And the media throws all sorts of accusations at  _me,_  they all live in  _Wonderland!"_  He spat the last word, opening the doors and gesturing for her to come in.

She nodded and did so, quickly walking into the spacious room, past the couches and towards the glass doors that led to a porch facing an indoor garden and sitting by the table set there. "'Illiberal democracy' as you called it, seems rather menacing nowadays, no?" Those who were close to her naturally worried, it didn't sound good, and Hungary didn't quite blame them.

The man scoffed, walking up to the table as well, sitting down. "If 'liberal' means surrendering our borders and culture, then yes, we'll be  _illiberal._  You, my lady Nation, will be safe and sane, unlike the other fools who fell for post-war dreams of peace."

She sighed, looking down at the food available. She should try all of it. "Don't be too harsh on them… They… They suffered a lot and fought a lot. You can't blame them for wanting peace after such a painful war." The  _most_  painful wars any Nation had ever experienced, it was too much of a shock, and all European Nations seemed to swear it off altogether. They suffered too much during that hellish century.

Although she meant all of her fellow European Nations, her mind defaulted to a few in particular.

Prussia, Austria, and… Germany…

Young Germany, in particular, suffered too much for his young life. She couldn't fault him for being traumatized and wanting peace above all else, she couldn't fault him for being so vulnerable to unscrupulous humans looking to take advantage of his weakness.

Vincze shook his head, serving himself some coffee. The entire delicious menu was allowed to be eaten once the host did so first, and Hungary served some delicious pudding to herself.

"I feel like I can." The man began again. "How do beings of their age not  _learn?_  Humans are sinful creatures; there will never be true peace with us. If Western Nations seek delusions of utopia this badly, they might as well become  _Communists."_  He spat the word, as he does with any word he hates.

Communism, the system that brought her so much hunger and suffering… It was supposed to usher in  _utopia,_  it was supposedly all ready to go, and it only needed the accretion of power and the working out through time to get it going, but… Hungary rubbed her palms together, somewhat uncomfortable. "I do not wish to see those I consider family die, Vincze. Ludwig especially. You might think otherwise, but to us, he's just a  _kid._  He… doesn't actually  _deserve_  any of this."

Vincze shook his head lightly again; she could sense pity swelling up, but not for Germany. It was mostly for Hungary herself. "A child held too tightly by the German Globalists, that Merwin… They'll choke him to death if his people don't wake up." He suddenly chuckled, a cynical edge to his tone. "I wonder what the Germans have done prior, to be graced with such a cursed Nation…"

"Vincze!" Hungary brought her fist down on the table, hard enough to make all cutlery quake. "Ludwig is not  _cursed…!"_

The man leaned away, seemingly not willing to take her indignation too seriously. "Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry, alright?" He rolled his eyes. "But you have to admit, the boy has  _bad luck…!"_

Born right before the worst wars humanity has even concocted, both of which his people helped start. 'Bad luck' was an understatement…

Hungary huffed, her arms crossed for a few seconds before she uncrossed them with a defeated sigh, continuing more softly. "Please tell me you won't give up on them? Not just Ludwig, but Gilbert and Roderich as well…" Sometimes, they seem stuck in a hopeless situation, but… "I do not want to see them thrown to the wolves." She still had hopes of a better future…

Vincze sighed as well, raising his hands in amity. "I'll keep berating the rest of the EU when given the chance, and I'll just generally serve as example. Our borders aren't open, and surprise, surprise, we're  _fine_. No useless human garbage littering our streets and leeching off of you."

Hungary smiled hesitantly. "I understand what you mean, but you shouldn't just call people  _garbage,_  you know how the foreign media twists that around." Her boss was no saint, after all. His image was easy enough to twist.

Although, in times like these, she would take what she could to protect herself. She would prefer having better men to represent her, but a Nation seldom gets exactly what they want.

"Bah!" The man barked. "They need to hear the painful truth! They don't work, don't help their own countries, men running from the problem like cowards and leaving their Nations as well as their women and children to pick up machine guns, then come here to get free healthcare and housing? Garbage, useless people, incapable of taking responsibility for their own choices, providers of no wealth for us and spiteful of our culture and religion. We have  _no_  reason to give them anything, we owe them  _nothing_." Vincze waved a small spoon admonishingly.

Hungary's shoulders dropped in defeat, lightly patting her hair. Her Prime Minister has always been a realist. Pragmatic, hot-headed, didn't like beating around the bush, or even sparing people's feelings.

Vincze had served himself another cup of coffee and was now stirring it with the spoon. "It's just a simple fact. Empathy is a… a  _relationship_ ," His tone was firm and lecturing. He  _really_  liked lecturing, maybe it made him feel like he had a more righteous and solid moral high-ground, and no one could stop him once he got going with it. "not something to be handed out for  _free_  just so you can feel good about yourself. You need to have something handed back in equal measure for it to be worth something. Where is their gratefulness? Where is their empathy? Where are the rallies for peace? How are they integrating? With what has been given them, for free, they should be kissing our feet in gratitude. People of the West are blindly handing out their empathy and care to newcomers who seldom reciprocate the same level of feelings. He who hands out in  _excess_  and doesn't receive  _enough_   _back_ … will just come out as the loser, in any situation. Case in point, their not-so-infinite  _money."_ He spat.

"I've been to Feliks' last year…" Hungary nodded as she hummed in quiet agreement, having finished her pudding. "They're keeping those people in camps, since they seem too desperate to 'escape' to the western countries. Apparently, the Polish don't hand out  _enough_  welfare. Feliks is really losing his patience… Although, he never had much of that to begin with."

"See?" Vincze drawled out the word, then sighed with exacerbated exhaustion as he leaned back. "You'd think 'desperate refugees' would be content with just being  _safe…_  Aah," He stopped, his cup pausing half-way to his mouth. "what are we really here for, by the way…?" He smiled knowingly. "I almost forgot."

"Ah!" Hungary started, remembering what was originally worrying her. She pulled her phone from inside her suit. "Excuse me." She mumbled as she searched for the e-mail. "Here." She found it and handed it to her boss.

He took it and adopted a pensive expression as he read. She waited silently.

Hungary had received an e-mail from a secretary of her government, the one who she usually dealt with when it came to these sorts of matters, and she was told that something had been forwarded to them, asking for it to be extended to her.

An invitation from a college group who  _really_  wished to talk to her.

Apparently, the Women's Rights committee of that college wanted to meet her and talk to her. Hungary knew what type of college she was dealing with, so she knew what these young ladies wanted.

This particular college had a  _collaborator_ , someone who funded it. Hungary  _hated_  the man who funded it. Her boss hated the man who funded it. Many of her people hated the man who funded it…

So she knew exactly why they were so eager to meet her, because she knew  _what_  was taught to them. Hungary was a woman, one of the few  _female_  Nations who survived the test of human nature.

They wanted the world to serve as a witness. 'See? A woman can be just as strong as a man', which is an idea Hungary found dangerously precarious at best.

She was a Nation. She wasn't a human woman. Her physical strength, while greater than any human man, was still below par if compared to male Nations. She more than made up for it with speed and flexibility as well as sharper senses, but that fundamental aspect of her body, which mimicked that of a female physiology, didn't change.

It's one of the reasons why there were so little female Nations left, while male Nations were plentiful.

It was natural selection.

As far as Hungary was concerned, throughout her life over the centuries, she's learned early on that the world was made  _by_  men,  _for_  men. Therefore, if she wanted to fit in with them, she had to work  _extra_  hard to reach their level.

The other Nations would never lower themselves a notch just so she would be comfortable. They didn't care she was a woman. She had resources and territory that could be taken, and to many human leaders, her perpetually young body was valuable. She knew they would love to subjugate her…

She had to work extra hard to gain their respect. She had to go further than simply surviving. Hungary, like most female Nations old enough, did exactly that and never complained about being too hard or about the world being too tough on them.

It was simply how the world truly was in its natural form.

Nowadays, women were allowed in  _by_  men, more specifically, Western Christian men.

This is what annoyed Hungary the most about what was being taught to these young women. It was something that made them entitled, arrogant, petulant, childish, rude, gave them the vain idea that the world belonged to  _them._  No, it did not, it never did, and it never would.

Men simply gave them the freedom of joining them in  _their_  world. Whether they succeeded or not was entirely up to women and how far they were willing to go, and to be honest, so far they seemed to be doing fine, free to work and excel  _wherever_  they felt like.

It should make them humble enough to accept this reality. But these colleges made them think otherwise instead. The world was supposedly against them and they needed to tear it down, they were taught. Empower them into  _arrogance,_  have them think they could do  _anything,_ and make them hostile.

Put them in harm's way.

After all, who funded these sorts of ideas had an objective which needed  _all_  hands available, and she wasn't on board with that.

She's lived under Communism; she could recognize its slimy patterns anywhere. Divide, divide all peoples into separate groups and pit them against one another. Atheists against theists, gays against straights, blacks against whites, women against men. Tear society down from its very foundations and built it anew in the name of the utopic dream.

Once upon a time, it used to be the 'haves' against the 'have-nots'. But Hungary knew Communism changed its face like one changes clothes in the morning. Once it came into contact with the force that had beaten it,  _America_ , it had simply taken a good look at itself and adapted for a new round. It picked up fringe groups and lifestyles of his society, showing them false dreams under its dark wings and turned them against all that was good and free, and more specifically, turning them against their own Nation.

This current version wasn't what Marx had once envisioned, but it mattered not.

The pursuit for the utopia went on, bent as it was.

Hungary would no longer fall for its dialect tactics.

"You should do it."

She didn't notice her own discontent expression, and her boss' sudden voice startled her. She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You should do it. Go there, meet the young malcontents…" The man smirked with a level of smugness she was familiar with at this point. "They're childish young ladies, fighting ghosts their own teachers conjured up. Maybe meeting a  _real_  woman will set them on the right path, back to the real world, and maybe, back to God." He shrugged.

Hungary hummed and leaned back. "I don't think they would want to publish whatever I have to say. They probably think I'm on their side for now. I'd hate to disappoint."

Their idea of 'empowered woman' was a woman who was rude and aggressive. Masculine. It was something Hungary has been trying to leave in her past. Why must they be so abrasive and embrace what they're not…?

She sighed, tilting her head forward. "I might lose my composure as well… They reject so many things I wish I had…"

She might love being a warrior and a soldier, but as she matured, she's learned to love her feminine side, and couldn't ever avoid that melancholic feeling when seeing mothers with their children. Parents with big families they've created…

As a Nation, she could never bear children of her own with someone she loved. She remembers trying with Austria, despite their slight aversion to the whole act. She'd never heard of an attempt between two Nations.

It led to nothing, of course.

Humans these days took something that was good and beautiful for granted…

Her hands gripped together over the table anxiously. A man's hand patted hers and she looked up. The smirk was gone, replaced by a more leveled expression. "I understand. There's little I find sadder than you being denied this by nature… Which is why I ask that you serve as example for the women of our country, and for women of the world. Both strong and beautiful, wise and at peace with reality."

Hungary blinked, but then sighed, nodding as she patted his hand back. "You're right. They certainly need better role models these days…"

* * *

**Washington D.C. – White House (UTC -4) 12:15 p.m.**

America nodded slowly to the beat of Rock music, sparks hitting his goggles from the fire of the small-but-reliable welding torch touching the heavy metal. After a second, he turned it off and angled the rifle properly so he could see down its sights.

Not bent, it seemed properly aimed. With that, the barrel piece wouldn't explode out of its place next time he tried to shoot it.

He put it back down on the table with a satisfied grin, taking the remote laying on the corner of the desk and pointing it over his shoulder to lower the volume, then putting it back. He raised a hand to pull the goggles off his eyes and place it over his head, then pushed the remaining random and forgotten pieces of metal into a box beside the desk, ignoring the loud clank of heavy metals, then he held his newest rifle experimentally again. "Nice…"

Normal guns are too light and weak, in his opinion. So… why not build his own? He didn't have to worry about weight-power ratio, anyway. It could be as powerful as possible, its weight irrelevant. But with the amount of power he put into these things, requiring much heavier metals, they tended to… explode or fall apart if not welded properly.

A human trying to shoot the thing would probably have it break their shoulder, if the weight didn't pull them into the ground first, of course.

Too bad his boss wasn't very charitable when it came to money for his hobbies. America felt bad about putting his very limited money up for it. He already had expenditures to his many associates who overlooked his various homes and veteran care. That alone required most of the money he was given, and if he wanted anything extra, he either had to somehow save money or find random jobs occasionally – and forgo grocery shopping altogether while scooping snacks from the White House kitchens.

That alone was difficult these days… America frowned, leaning back on his seat. He avoided low-skill jobs, not wanting to take even more chances from his already struggling citizens… He went for high-skill odd-jobs instead.

He wished he had more money for his own personal use… He's never been exactly frugal when he had a lot available. His room underground, for example, was  _soundproof_ , which cost a pretty penny. That was back when his government was kinder with how much they lent him, letting him have personal projects or hobbies with little to no complaints.

He had no reason to worry about sound pollution upstairs, or spying, so that was money well spent, either way.

He normally preferred his apartment, not so close to people he didn't trust, many who didn't like him or his habits, such as the habit of building weapons for the heck of it, but this was where he kept most of his belongings, safe from any kind of disaster, as well as where he kept most of the heavy metals he worked with for this hobby of his.

If not guns, it would be schematics for bombs. If not that, then it would be software. A weapon just the same, when used correctly.

America sighed, pulling his glasses from his shirt's collar and putting it back on, dropping the still-untested weapon on the table to pit its weight against an immovable object. It was heavy enough to make the entire thing tremble loudly under the weight, despite the fact that it was reinforced metal. He nodded, looking over it. He briefly thought of changing its handle, but shook his head.

Maybe later. Better test it first and see if it wouldn't fall apart under its own weight and power  _this_   _time_.

He leaned back on his seat again, front legs of the chair hovering over the ground as he intertwined his fingers over his head and stretched for a few seconds, then focused on the ceiling as a thought crossed his mind.

It's been just a few days since the interview. Things seemed to be going according to plan, just as America expected. He was ambiguous, left plenty of room for speculation, and speculate they did…

Like dogs chasing their own tail. That on  _mainstream_ , of course.

The internet was a bit tricky, but he did understand it better than any of his politicians ever could. The Left, in general, was dividing itself in a fiery haze of ideological confusion and curious amazement – the last coming from most of the normal liberals, of course, a few even figured he was being deliberately cryptic and was privately laughing at the media.

The Skeptic Community, living up to it name, was still debating. Atheists either embracing the idea of Nations as proof of their thesis or straight-out rejecting it as they do to religion.

Meanwhile, religious gatherings were either debating over their holy books or throwing accusations at the government of lying brazenly in attempt to attack their faith.

The Right, overall, seemed to accept the proofs given with a grain of salt, with varying levels of nay-say, but were seemingly up to debate, either out of curiosity or itching to disprove the whole concept. Some there, like the liberals, reached similar conclusions of his calculated manipulation of the media, and imagined he was either up to no good or was simply having fun at the networks' expense.

Quite honestly, America didn't like- no, he  _hated_  dividing his people like this. They were divided enough at this point, but the last thing he wanted was to pick sides, so he had to, at least, try to make peace with all of them, somehow…

It wasn't that proof was insufficient enough for him to have a total rejection – wouldn't that be for the better? He'd be left alone, at least – online communities were still digging things out of that leaked archive, the Chans, 4 in particular, all being  _especially_  tenacious. They even somehow found an old picture America didn't even remember being taken from Vietnam's War, not long after she'd turned against him and joined the Communists, taking his knife in the middle of their disagreement-turned-fight and leaving a… nice  _parting_   _gift_  in the form of a wound that cost him his left eye.

It didn't heal for nearly a month and he walked around with that wound bandaged, visibly simmering with hatred for Vietnam the entire time.

America figured he shouldn't ever underestimate the weaponized  _autism_  of 4Chan. Who knew what else they would uncover in there? Maybe he should have factored this as an unpredictable invariable in his plans…

He huffed in annoyance and let the chair fall back to its natural position, pushing it back and standing up, taking his new rifle along. He barely felt its weight as he walked towards the stairs behind him.

It was a relatively big place he had for himself there. He's been sort of making it his little personal niche for more than a century and it's been a  _long_  time since he let a human in.

Once upstairs, there was a small room with shelves where he kept any weapons or whatever he decided to tinker with, along with schematics that resembled doodles to anyone unfamiliar with his thought processing. The room had no lights, but it was illuminated by the light that came through the glass door, which led to his actual room.

About to place the rifle on an empty spot, he stopped when his eyes briefly landed on the table in the corner. After a second of thought, he moved towards it instead. Over it, he had set a WAR board, with all the round and pointed pieces arranged accordingly.

He took a deep weary breath.

The blue pieces were over his territory, as well as his brothers', Japan's, and Korea's territories. A few were scattered in Europe as well.

The white pieces were very concentrated in Europe, mostly on the West side where the blue pieces were greatly outnumbered.

The red pieces were over Russia's and China's territory, along with a tiny one just beside Korea's blue piece, where his recluse brother was hiding with that maniac dictator of his.

The green ones were placed over the Arabian Peninsula and northern Africa, pointy pieces pointed at each other and at all possible outward directions. Looking at it made him grimace almost unconsciously.

He'd also left yellow and black pieces – the only colors left – over the rest of the board, in the south of his continent, as well as in the rest of Africa, for completion's sake.

Finally, he'd sprinkling white, red, and green pieces all over, mingling in between.

 _None_  of these pieces represented common individual humans or Nations anywhere.

Most humans lived their lives without participating in the political game, just taking care of their lives, their families, their careers, or in some places, just worrying about survival, with no time for anything else.

These pieces were about movements, groups, ideologies, powers. The map and its players in the  _game._

America did this on a whim, of course, as sometimes he needed some  _visuals_  to get his thoughts straight. With this setting, he could see the three powers he considered a threat to him, his people, and his allies. He rubbed his chin, gun held upright on the table with his other hand.

The red pieces, the Commies, of course, were poised aggressively in Eurasia, pointed pieces turned in all directions.

A tiny round piece was on the north of the Korean Peninsula, with the little filthy  _groundhog_  armed by Russia and China, used as a deranged spearhead to wave around and scare both Korea and Japan.

Another red piece was placed over Crimea; America remembers vividly his  _frustration_  with his boss, who did nothing about it. Just threw empty threats around. He'd thought it was probably his personal issue back then, 'because who put  _America_  in charge…?' But he knows Russia and China thought he'd gone soft, that he wouldn't  _step in_  if they decided to go crazy.

They were testing the waters, much to America's annoyance. Russia with Crimea, China with the south Chinese Sea…

America huffed angrily, but looked away. His eyes darted to the green pieces of the wannabe Caliphate he hated so much, focused around Saudi. There was little that he hated as much as being dependent on their oil supply.

Internally, he hoped electric transportation technology would become more efficient, so he could then watch the oil prices plummet. That would show them… It almost sounded worth it, even though America himself would suffer greatly from it as well… Most of the money they got went to their oppressive government or to the funding of Mosques across the world, to spread their ways across the world. Judging by how things were run in their countries, America didn't need to look too deep to see this wasn't good. They were up to no-good…

The rest of the green pieces were also all over the Middle East, as the blue pieces had been removed, again, thanks to his boss… It was a  _spectacular_  mess, now with green pieces expanding outward towards Europe at a worrying rate.

Finally, the white pieces weren't exactly stationed in any particular country, although he did focus them around Germany's home.

Not necessarily because he had anything to do with it  _personally,_  but because of where the EU was centered, despite its capital being located at Belgium's home. Most of the Globalists seemed to be operating from there, although their reach ran basically  _everywhere_  in the Western World. Their dream of a borderless world with a superstate where  _they_  were the rulers was indeed a threat – it was tragic how it was  _always_  Germany, it's like the kid was  _cursed_  – America couldn't see it any other way when they had so much money at their disposal. As far as he was concerned, they wanted all Nations dead.

These three were his enemies. Sometimes they worked together, sometimes against one another. Either way, America hated them all with a passion.

He knows many of his people wished he – his country – would stay out of  _all_  conflict, ignore everything, let them solve their own problems, don't interfere, ever. However… when he hears that sort of idea, he thinks of his isolationist days, the wars before he joined to help, the world before he showed it how Capitalism was better than Communism, and then thinks of the expansion of these three powers.

His grip on the metal of his rifle tightens as he frowns at the board. His allies – more specifically, his  _family,_  his mind corrected – were at the mercy of white and green pieces, which outnumbered the few blue ones he'd placed there by a long shot. Sooner or later, they would take over if nothing was done, and America didn't like to think about what would happen to the Nations there…

The blue pieces on East Europe and East Asia were under constant threat of the red ones just beside them, outnumbering them by a mile. How would they feel if America abandoned them to their neighbors? Sooner or later, the reds would expand towards them if left alone. White and green pieces have tried expanding there, with little luck, and for now, they are relatively safe from both. However, how long could that last?

What about his  _brothers,_  just south of China's sea? Could he just leave them to deal with China on their own?

If America just turned away, how long until they came for  _him?_ He might no longer be interested in war, but war would always be interested in him, it seems… What was that quote, 'with great power, comes great responsibility'?

He shook his head lightly.

The red pieces were very numerous amongst the yellow ones of the South American continent, which made America feel surrounded, further proving his point. More red pieces in Africa as well, although not quite as proliferate…

Other red, white, and green pieces were scattered, in his own territory as well. He even left a pointed red piece in California and New York… There were also a few green pieces here and there, but what kept his mind busy was the lone poignant white piece.

In his capital.

His ear twitched as he tilted his head a bit. Speak of the devil… America sighed and took a step back from the board, walking back to the shelf where he stashed the rifle neatly. From there, he went towards the glass door that led to his actual room.

This area was much better illuminated and homey. The door that led out was straight ahead, to his right was an open kitchenette, to his left were his computers, couch in front of a large TV, all boxes, papers, files, containers, letters, all tucked away wherever, as well as his bed surrounded by  _more_  of these stuff.

Reaching the door, which had his own personal security methods – as if he'd let anyone inside the place where he kept so much information and money – he opened it, its metallic weight not bothering him. It led him to a very small adjacent room with cameras, and in front of him, a set of wooden double doors, easily accessible.

Making sure his door was properly locked, he went for the wooden doors, opening it and sticking himself out just in time to meet his boss, about to open it. America stared innocently for a second. "Can I help you?"

The man regained his composure – he knew the man had noticed, that America had sensed his presence first and hadn't bothered to wait for him to knock on his door, and he didn't quite appreciate when the Nation rubbed his inhuman abilities in his face – and crossed his arms.

"Yes, Alfred, you can. I need you upstairs, to check on something."

America raised an eyebrow. Now he was immensely confused. "You never ask me to…  _check_  anything." He narrowed his eyes. What was his deal…?

"Well, we figured this time we could use your, uh… insight."

Eyes narrowing further, America nodded cautiously, knowing he didn't actually have a choice. "Okay…?" He stepped away from the door. His boss nodded in satisfaction and walked towards the stairs to the right of the hallway. America followed silently.

The man seemed to notice the Nation wasn't in a good mood, so the walk was quiet, neither trying to make any awkward conversation.

They reached the Oval Office. "Please, sit." His boss picked up the remote as America sat on the couch. What is he supposed to check…? Was it on TV? Did something happen…?!

He didn't feel anything, nothing hurt… So what-

Just as he was starting to worry himself into an anxious panic, the TV was on, and America stopped thinking for a second, raising his eyebrow in confusion. "What is going on?"

The man he was seeing, well, he's seen him often, a businessman, pretty rich, quite the celebrity, one those who hadn't quite caught on to Nations' existence before the whole leak, which was understandable, not  _all_  of them knew, the corporate minority who knew was very tiny before. Has also alluded a few times about running for president, much like anyone who thinks they have a solution to the country's problems.

What was he doing this time…?

America looked at his boss as the man began his speech.

O-Man seemed rather serious. "He's… running."

"Running." America parroted in confusion, then turned to the TV. " _Him_. He's actually RUNNING?" He pointed at the TV as he stared at his boss, then burst out laughing.

"Just listen and say what you think." The man droned.

"Holy shit! Is this a joke?!" America had a hard time trying to force himself to stop laughing.

He already knew who the favorite socialite was, America had little hope that his people would have an  _actual_  choice that even remotely represented them, as it's been off the table for a long time now. So America was very cynical about this election, not really caring about who was running against  _her._

Soon-to-be 'woman of the year' was being pushed to the altar, and America knew where the money would be flowing. There was little hope, he didn't have nearly enough influence to actually change anything yet, so America couldn't quite care. He figured his boss knew he didn't give two shits about this bare-bones 'democracy', a shadow of his dreams, so why was he asking to check on a candidate…? And  _this_  particular candidate, of all people? Wasn't this just a stunt to get the media's attention?

"Just listen." His boss seemed to be losing his patience, so America forced himself to quiet down, focusing on the TV as he shook his head.

He began with a funny joke, America laughed a bit more, this time more quietly, continuing to smile amusedly, but frowned, as the man began asking  _'when was the last time anybody saw us beating, let's say, China in a trade deal?'_

…When  _was_  the last time…?

_'When did we beat Japan, at anything?'_

Well… Did the war count…? He knew the man meant in trade, but America was kind of grasping at straws. Japan never really imported cars,or  _anything,_  from him… It was mostly the other way around.

His smile was slipping.

The man continued to speak, and America… felt a bit  _weird._  He hasn't really thought about his problems, mostly because no one listened to him. He… gave up on telling them what was bothering him. Many times over, they, along with his boss, would reassure him they'd look into it, try to fix it, but it just seemed like this was all platitude, they never did what he asked…

Then he began speaking about  _Mexico_.

 _'When Mexico sends its people, they're not sending their best, they're not sending you, they're not sending_ you _. They're sending people that have lots of problems, and they're bringing those problems with them. They're bringing drugs, they're bringing crime, they're rapists- and some, I assume are good people, but I speak with border guards, and they tell us what we're getting-'_

America's shoulders dropped. Mexico…  _did_  have lots of problems.

After… After  _Texas,_ after what happened in the Civil War, America promised him he would never try to cause him any trouble again, because Texas, the guy he'd met during that fateful war with Mexico, the guy he'd joined forces with, the guy who became his  _brother,_ was Mexico's brother  _first_.

America truly didn't want to cause him any issues again, so as his neighboring Nation descended further and further into poverty and chaos, the more his people ran towards his own border, the less willing America was to stand up and  _say_  something about it.

He felt too guilty to do it.

But was this okay? America had limited resources, which he'd rather spend on his own people. Illegals also gave him this itch on the back of his head, which he's learned to ignore, although with much difficulty.

11 million of them wasn't a comfortable number… Not all of them were Mexican, but that wasn't really the point.

They worked pretty cheap, which took jobs from America's own poorest people, more specifically from his black communities on the border. He'd watched many of his border cities turning into satellite cities of Mexico, he even remembers a mayor advocating for his city to be Mexico's once again, it just seemed to change once all-American neighborhoods, peacefully coexisting with their southern neighbors, into something that just wasn't his.

It was an open secret amongst the Americans who lived in those cities.

But America just didn't know what to do, he was always  _stuck_.

Then he began hearing about terrorism, his smile long gone, his shoulders slouched as he focused, barely sensing his boss' stare on the back of his head.

The destabilization of the Middle East. It was a mess, such a mess, so much money lost, so many lives lost…America did not care when the war first started, he was blind with rage, seeking vengeance. He never even thought about the consequences.

The man just went on, about his problems, about things none of his politicians ever  _really_  talked about, poking at worries America had forced himself to forget.

_'Politicians are all talk, no action, nothing is gonna get done, they'll not bring us, believe me, to the Promised Land'._

He's right… They  _are_  all talk and no action…America thinks back to his politicians ignoring his words, treating him like a nuisance, like a  _brat,_  not wise enough to be listened to…

It went on-

Healthcare is a mess.

Immigration is too one-sided.

Terrorism is growing.

His people can't find jobs.

His veterans are being treated like shit.

Politicians don't do anything.

The system is  _corrupt_.

**"-ed!"**

America jumped on his seat, startled. Then he turned, more calmly. "What?"

His boss narrowed his eyes, hand with the remote extended towards the TV, which was now muted. He hadn't noticed. "I asked 'what do you think?'."

America stared silently for a second, then swallowing and sitting straight. "Uh… What…  _do_  you want to hear…?"

O-Man crossed his arms. "I want to hear what you think."

America rubbed his fingers together, eyes darting around the room. "Well… He, uh… did speak some sense…?"

His boss tilted his head in confusion. "How? It was pure incomprehensible  _nonsense_."

America shut his mouth quickly, expression becoming lax. "Right." He said softly as he stood. "Nonsense."

His boss narrowed his eyes. "Alfred."

"Hm?" America took a step back.

"What  _else_  is in your mind?"

There was no time to think, America quickly left his mind blank so nothing would slip past his control. He tilted his head calmly, crossing his arms. "Why are you so worried?" He questioned, sounding mildly amused. "With how much money going to everyone's  _favorite_   _gal_ ," He forced himself to not roll his eyes. "I don't think you need to stress yourself over this  _PR stunt."_  He gestured to the TV.

They stared at each other for a few long seconds, his boss seemingly trying to decipher America's carefully controlled expression.

His mind went back to his board. That lone symbolic white piece over his capital. He's known for a while now.

He couldn't trust anyone in the White House. That wouldn't change, especially if  _she_  was elected. America wasn't a fool. He might force himself to ignore the problems he couldn't solve as a Nation, but he wasn't about to ignore the people in charge. He wasn't above  _spying_  on them, just like they weren't above spying on his people, and certainly not above  _trying_  to spy on their own Nation.

He knew who they wanted in charge next. Nothing would change if they got their way. In fact, he thought things would continue to spiral downwards.

If anyone dared to challenge the authoritarian monster his government had become, America wouldn't want to stand in the way.

Any of his people were free to at least  _try_.

"Anything  _else?"_  His boss narrowed his eyes.

America shrugged nonchalantly. "The guy is funny, I'll give him  _that."_

More seconds of scrutinizing before the man turned away with a tired sigh. " _Fine_. That will be all then. You can go."

Of course. America's eyes darted to the TV, but he didn't waste any more time and left the room. He had a lot of work to do. Lots of research.

He walked back in mental silence, and as he reached the stairs that led him to his safe-heaven, America waited until he was inside with the door locked behind him to sigh in relief, letting his body slide down until he was sitting on the floor.

First, he needed to watch that whole speech, America was certain he'd been mentioned at some point. Then, he would have a look at what that man has  _written_  – he's sure he has a book published, the 'Art of the Deal' was it? – to get a feel of who he was dealing with. He wouldn't say anything, of course. America wasn't really supposed to endorse any candidate, even more so now that his opinion could be public.

Even showing interest was off limits.

After that… America would most likely keep an eye on those in charge of his government. He had a  _vague_  feeling that they wouldn't be taking any chances and would soon schedule a meeting to decide how to approach 'the problem'. Paranoid, as usual.

Like government, like Nation, as always.

Hopefully, America's reaction wouldn't tip them off too much. There was just  _something_ … just the way the man talked, just the  _things_  he talked about… something there wasn't like all the other politicians. It wasn't just a bunch of long words strung together so people wouldn't notice that there was no real weight or meaning there.

He knew it would resonate with his people, many who were desperate for some or  _any_  kind of change, desperate to be  _heard,_  even if they had to bet on an uncertain 'maybe'.

America was suddenly smiling hesitantly, a tiny laugh escaping his lips. "Heh… Maybe this election won't be so predictable after all…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More context and information in the original News Feed entry on FF.net once uploaded.


	25. Hand in Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to have uploaded this here before doing so in FF.net, but I did the opposite this time. Heh, my bad, I totally forgot.

**Northeast of Barcelona (UTC +2) 10:16 p.m.**

Spain stared in desolation at the screen of his phone, the call ending up on voice mail. He sighed heavily and turned it away from him, leaving its screen down on the counter of the bar and lightly pushing it further away.

The soft and calm music did little to comfort him.

Instead, he turned to his glass of Sangria, the dark red liquor was very attractive at that moment. Although, instead of drinking it, he laid his head down with his cheek on the wooden surface and simply stared at the ice melting within the cup.

Long, stressful weeks required some time off, away from the  _judgment_. Spain grimaced before he straightened himself, took a long swig from his drink, and then laid down on the previous position again. Nothing was better than alcohol whenever he needed to numb some feelings.

He felt like this would be his life from now on. Even  _if_  he could hide from the media forever, his people were still listening and the sensation of judgment was in the very air. He  _couldn't_  hide, though. Sooner or later he would be confronted, about the many,  _many_  terrible things he's done in the past.

He'd only checked what they were saying  _once,_  and it was like a slap to the face.

The ice in the cup melted enough to clink into a different position, and Spain blinked lazily at it. He felt a buzz on the wooden surface, his eyes widened momentarily and he turned to his phone, picking it up and checking. It was a text.

_'Pls don't text or call me when drunk.'_

Ah, Argentina… Spain stared for a second before letting out a cynical, if not defeated laugh. His children had little compassion for him. Spain laid back on the previous position.

He's been feeling… like he needed just a little bit of comforting. The purest form of comfort to humans has always been family, so… Spain wanted that warmth too. He cared about the little ones, wanted to be  _close_ … Like a  _real_  family.

Little Argentina, despite having forgiven him, was still not very warm…

Not just this child, but  _all_  of them, the ones who forgave him and the ones who didn't, all tended to keep a certain… precautionary distance. Physically  _and_  emotionally.

Spain honestly didn't blame them, he was a bit of a monster when raising them.

He eased the feeling of shame and guilt by blaming it on his time growing up with the  _Moors._  It didn't exactly make a compassionate Nation out of him, and the habits and personality he'd developed with them left a long-lasting mark.

Or so he  _hoped_  that was the case.

He could hardly bring himself to believe that logic, though. Sometimes, he thought he was simply rotten to the core…

He vaguely remembers his mother lamenting that he was the more problematic child. Although maybe that wasn't worth a lot, because she wasn't very  _motherly_  either way, preferred to spend her time hunting beasts or playing with him and Portugal in a manner that usually got them hurt.

She didn't really care, just as she didn't care when the two of them hurt each other. They were the little nameless things she played with, never bothering to actually raise or even name them properly.

They were attached to her either way. She never told them to follow her, but they did.

Portugal was more behaved, though, seemed to prefer playing with the human kids in the villages they passed through. Spain had noticed quickly that the human kids were…  _boring_. He tried playing with them, but they always got hurt, which was why he was called 'a problem' by his mother.

The kids just started  _crying_  and didn't want to play anymore.

Portugal, who played just as blandly as they did, was  _also_  boring. The only one who was fun was his mother, who was, well… violent.

Violence was fun.

That was him, when dealing with enemies and when dealing with friends, as well as when dealing with children, never really noticing that he was the  _only one_  who didn't mind such things. He felt like that never really changed, even though he's tried to change it.

He swore he'd turn a new leaf at the turn of the 20th century. It was a century of change, after all. Everything seemed to be changing, so… Spain did his best to change into a better person after all of that… He didn't want to have fun with violence anymore, he didn't want to ignore others' pain, but did that really matter to anyone now…?

Neither his children nor the media seemed inclined to care. All that mattered was who he was in the  _past_ and the suffering he'd caused without care, which was something he'd never be able to change and would have to simply live with,  _forever_.

He straightened up again to take the last swig of his drink, emptying the glass. He sighed and raised the glass, signaling the bartender to serve him more. The man had been ready, as usual.

Spain liked this bar and went there often, so that was expected.

It was a quaint, old-school style, with wooden walls and illuminated with dim flame-like lights. It made Spain comfortably nostalgic.

As his cup was filled, Spain caught a presence approaching the area. He sighed and lowered his full glass as he waited. He'd invited someone, of course. It's better to drink with a drinking buddy, someone who could handle alcohol better than him, in case he extrapolated his limits and ended up beyond the realm of rationality.

The last thing he wanted was to wander outside completely drunk and get into an unlucky situation that would be seen on the morning news.

He was already a Nation his people couldn't exactly be proud of. He didn't need 'drunken idiot' on the list.

He heard the soft chiming of the door opening and sighed, closing his eyes and laying down on the counter as he waited. The sound of steps stopped beside him. "Drunk already?" Came the voice, with a German-accented Spanish.

"No, no. Just tired, already." Spain mumbled. The chair beside him was pulled and he opened his eyes to see his white-haired friend. "Aren't you?"

Prussia grinned almost derisively, confirming Spain's assessment with a nod. "Am indeed. The  _Lügenpresse_  is working hard."

Spain grimaced, sitting straight to face the German Nation. "Don't use that word… It's got a bad taste, you know?"

Prussia scoffed, waving him off. "The original meaning still works just fine. It fits, especially when it comes to us." He tilted his head at Spain, but blinked, then pointed at his drink. "I don't know what that is, but I want it too."

"It's Sangria. Good choice."

"Eh, I'm sure it is."

.

They kept their conversation hushed. There were other few people in the bar as well. The music remained soft and helped keep their words somewhat private.

"He really did it then…?" Spain wondered, shoulders hunched as he stared down at his drink.

"He did. I thought everyone knew at this point, but maybe they all just agreed to not talk about it. It wasn't that long ago, and I guess the Allied Nations don't really gossip a lot." Prussia leaned back a bit, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds.

"I just heard rumors. I didn't spend too much time with you guys, after all." Spain shrugged. "I didn't want to fight any other Nation."

"Ja, ja… 'new leaf' and all. That's fine."

"Must have hurt…" Spain commented quietly, drawing circles with his finger distractedly on the wooden surface. "For Alemania…"

Prussia remained quiet, looking back down at his own drink, swirling the glass a bit before taking a quick sip. Only then he replied. "It's difficult to kill leaders, eh…? Even if they  _are_  completely crazy and detestable…"

Spain smiled in cynical amusement. When so many of your humans placed the role of  _authority_  on a single person, it naturally created a strong  _bond_. Spain himself hated many of his leaders, and that  _bond_  was the  _barrier_  stopping him from killing them in their sleep.

Like a self-defense mechanism, keeping them safe from themselves. It wouldn't do for human leaders to be killed seemingly at random just because they didn't get along with their own Nation.

How would any system function with wrenches being thrown into it so regularly?

So… the amount of willpower Germany must have exerted from himself to do it… "Is he still hiding?"

Prussia sighed. "Ja."

"He wanted everyone to find people to support us, to then gain the people's trust more slowly." Spain glanced at Prussia from the corner of his eyes.

"Hm…" Prussia rolled his eyes slowly. "Easier said than done. I guess that was the plan, until reality hit him again and he realized he was too scared of the media to do it." He raised his glass close to his mouth. "He's been spending more time outside reality than in it. Of course it would smack him at some point…"

Spain's grip on his own glass tightened. "Si…"

"We can't hide forever, you know?"

His shoulders twitched.

Prussia suddenly laughed quietly. "Yeah, that's the feeling I get too. This century was the  _worst_  possible time for this shit to happen." He gestured over them with one arm.  _"This_  is our lives now, and we're fucked. No way out except holing ourselves underground or something." Prussia grinned at him. "I don't know about you, but my pride wouldn't let me do that."

Spain merely whimpered. "I can't do this…" He couldn't understand how Prussia dealt with this so calmly. He had a lot on his record, wasn't he afraid? Spain had much more to be ashamed of, certainly, but Prussia's life was no picnic either. He had his sins tallied up as well.

"You're being pathetic, you know…?" Prussia raised his fist to his cheek to support his head, sighing to himself.

"It's the drink."

"Nobody likes a whiny drunk. I preferred when you were an  _angry_  drunk. At least then it was fun."

Spain shuddered lightly. "New leaf."

"Of  _course_."

Ever since he'd first met Prussia, he's always been like this. Overly-confident, not very self-conscious of what others thought of him. Hell, that first time was when the German Nation walked deep into Moors' territory dressed as a  _Teutonic_   _Crusader_.

You don't get any more cocky and smug than that, which simply meant Prussia could not  _possibly_  be hiding from the media like him. Spain frowned. "You know… I thought you were here because you wanted to hide too." So there it goes, Spain's kindred spirit…

Prussia had finished his drink and was gesturing to the bartender for more, a request which was quickly attended. "No, not exactly- well…" He corrected himself. "It  _is_  a drag to deal with them right now, there's plenty who want to talk in front of cameras for the whole country to see, but… I just really want my brother to learn how to deal with these things." Prussia shrugged. "I thought that maybe if he were cornered, he would get it together."

"That is so cruel…" Spain commented quietly with wide eyes.

Prussia seemed to reluctantly agree, because he leaned away and averted his eyes. "I-I can't hold his hand forever!"

"So cruel…"

"Stop it…!"

* * *

.

.

.

It's not that Prussia didn't like having friends.

It certainly beats having  _no friends,_  because then he'd only have enemies. Who would be watching his back then? Well, it's not that he'd fully trust someone – other than his brother – to watch his back, either.

But he liked having friends, especially in times where there were no wars to think about. He didn't have to wonder if they'd be stabbing him in the back or not and he was better off expecting that from human politicians.

Yeah, it was good to have friends.

It's just that he'd prefer if he didn't end up saddled with situations like this. "You know… We, being friends, it's the only reason I'm doing this." Prussia grunted as he pulled an arm over his shoulder, so a completely piss-drunk Spain wouldn't trip over his own feet as he walked him along.

"Heheeh… You're a  _great_  friend…" Was the slurred response.

"I  _better_  be." He was already doing such a favor, dragging him back to his hotel room, because clearly, Spain couldn't afford the mental faculties to Hop anywhere, so Prussia would be paying for an extra room – he sure as hell wasn't sharing a bed.

"You- You know who's NOT a great friend…?"

"Hm…?" Prussia hummed distractedly, trying to read the street sign in the distance with the somewhat poor lighting of this path.

"My… damn  _brother…!"_

Prussia rolled his eyes with a sigh. It was too late for this shit.

"That coward…!" He raised a shaking fist to the air for a second. "Y-You know what…? I-I'm gonna- I  _gotta_  talk to him- Now…!"

Prussia kept him in place when he tried wandering off. "No, you're not. You're drunk."

"But I need to-"

"You can Hop to his border later, when you're  _sober_." He couldn't believe he was playing babysitter on a Saturday. Well, at least Spain owned him a favor now. "Heh…" He found himself more amused by this whole state of affairs. "I never thought… I would  _ever_  be dragging your drunk-ass to my hotel room back when we first met…" Maybe Prussia also had a little too much to drink, because he didn't normally think of  _that_  day…

"…Sorry… 'bout trying to kill you…"

"That's  _fine_ … I  _was_  there to kidnap you." They both laughed, although Spain sounded like he was about to fall asleep. "That queen of yours- not exactly  _your_ _s_  then- She  _did_  pay some pretty penny to find you and take you back to her and… you were with the Moors… so…" Prussia was sure Spain had been taken by them when young, so of course he was a Muslim Nation through and through at that point.

That event between the two of them wasn't really recorded in history, of course. It was an event between Nations only.

The queen of one of the northern Kingdoms on the Iberian Peninsula didn't want any other Nation for her kingdom. She wanted  _that_  Nation, the one she perceived to have been stolen long ago. She offered a great sum of money to any Nation in Europe – or even elsewhere – who could take her request of fighting the now Moor Nation and bringing him back by force.

Since clearly, no  _human_  was up to the task.

They  _did_  try, several times in fact. It never ended well.

Prussia was okay with some extra cash, and the Crusades were still pretty much going. Although Prussia was no longer a Teutonic Knight at that point, he  _did_  miss his black and white uniform, that was just a plus.

So he went into their territory in search of his target – finding resistance from many humans, but nothing he couldn't deal with – and picked a fight as soon as he found him. There were few Nations who could best Prussia in a one-on-one sword fight, and Spain –  _Al-Andalus_  at the time –  _wasn't_  one of them.

It was a fun fight. Muslim Nations were even more dramatic than the Crusaders with the whole 'Holy War' thing, so Prussia played the part just to get on his last nerves.

Still. He had to carry on his horse a rather irritating and violent little tied-up  _mutt_  who spent more time muttering Quranic curses that  _probably_  promised him pain – Prussia didn't understand Arabic, after all – than in blessed  _silence,_  much to Prussia's exasperation.

It was the  _worst,_  to be honest, but worth the money.

Prussia thought that Christian monarchs harboring a Muslim Nation – not exactly known for their love of dialogue back then – was a  _stupid_  idea, even if he were locked up. But after taking his money, Prussia washed his hands of them and went back home, the whole mission just another experience to add to his resume of accomplishments.

Somehow, that lovely queen wasn't torn to shreds. Somehow, she convinced a rather faithful Muslim Nation to commit apostasy and switch sides. She must have been some sort of blessed angel.

"Tough queen you had there, eh…? I wonder-" Prussia stopped and raised an eyebrow when the weight beside him doubled and he nearly fell forward. He adjusted his posture and threw a light scowl at his friend. "Of course, asleep already. Welp," Prussia shrugged and continued on regardless. "I'll just  _drag_  you then."

So he did.

Just then, as they passed by a wide alleyway, Prussia blinked, hearing steps, but holding a person and not being in his territory where he could passively sense others around him, he wasn't fast enough to move and someone hit them both.

"What the-!" Prussia hit the ground sitting, dropping Spain as well, who whined when hitting the ground as well. Prussia glared at the perpetrator. "Watch where-!" He stopped.

The woman who hit them was on the ground as well, wearing some relatively formal suit, massaging her calves under her stockings. She wasn't wearing high-heels, which were dangling from her wrist instead. She barely looked at him, wide eyes turned at the alley instead. "Oh my God- just- I'm-" As if giving up on apologizing, she got up and began walking away at a brisk pace. "You should get out of here, señor…!"

Prussia remained close to Spain, but held her arm. "Whoa, whoa, wait there! At least apologize!"

"Stop yelling!"

"You're yelling too!"

"That's because you yelled first!"

Prussia paused when hearing the sound of a car running very fast, approaching quickly enough that the woman heard it too after a few more seconds of trying to pull away.

She seemed to panic and Prussia narrowed his eyes. "Is someone after you?" He stood up. "…Touchy-feely migrants or something?"

"What? No!" She seemed properly confused, which meant honesty there.

 _'Getting paranoid, huh…?'_  Prussia quietly berated himself for assuming so quickly.

A light shone from the other end of the alleyway, there was a street on the other side of the block, and the light turned towards them. A car turned into the alleyway, barely fitting, and the engine gave a warning roar.

The woman made a terrified high-pitched noise and Prussia scowled, bending down to pick his friend as the car accelerated, and he pushed all three of them out of the way a few seconds before the vehicle passed by, tires screeching loudly as it stopped some 10 meters from them.

"What the hell…" Prussia hissed in annoyance. He turned and dropped a still sleeping Spain more carefully. "…How long are you sleeping for, you idiot…!" He hissed to the other Nation, but quickly turned to the possible threat.

Humans weren't much of a threat, but he wasn't exactly alone. He briefly glanced at the woman, raising an eyebrow.

She wasn't staring at the men who walked out of the car, she was staring wide-eyed at Spain instead. As the doors closed, she gasped and grabbed the Nation, holding him close as if trying to hide him.

"…What are you doing…?!" He hissed at her and she only shook her head rapidly. Prussia turned to the men instead.

He scanned all four of them. One seemingly unarmed at the front, two with blunt weapons, bat and crowbar, and one with a simple fire-weapon, medium-caliber pistol, at the back. All very… Spanish. Prussia almost scoffed to himself.

Paranoid indeed.

The one he guessed to be the leader gave them a plastic smile. "Holla, Señorita Cécil. We told you, we just want to  _talk."_  He raised a hand in mock amity.

Now named Cécil didn't respond, only glared.

Prussia placed a hand on his waist and moved to stand in between them. "Is  _that_  how you signal that you want to talk?" He wondered sarcastically. "I feel bad for any chick you try to  _flirt_  with in that case."

One of the men, the one holding a bat, adjusted his stance, hitting it on his palm. Prussia wasn't fazed.

The leader gave him a tight smile, rubbing his chin as if trying to look pensive. "Lo siento, do I  _know_  you, Alemán?"

Prussia shrugged as he cracked his knuckles with a smug grin. "Eh, maybe, I'm all over YouTube apparently."

"Jefe…" The one who had been more passive with his posture leaned closer to his boss with wide eyes. "…I think he's one of them, one of the German ones…!"

The atmosphere changed. You could hear a pin drop if it wasn't the engine of the car still running in the background.

The leader seemed to change his demeanor entirely and he backed away. "Wow, okay… Lower the gun, will you-" He turned back to see his frozen underling, still holding the weapon. "Lower the  _fucking_  gun, do you want to start something with the Germans…?! You disrespectful moron!" Only then the man moved, hiding the gun inside his suit and keeping his hands off of it. The others backed away with the weapons lowered as well.

Prussia stared in awed confusion. Was he that intimidating now?

"Okay," The leader began as he backed away with his hands up. "we don't want any trouble with the Germans, we just want some information, which Cécil over there has. We were  _not_  going to hurt her. Swear…!"

Prussia was still waiting for the first attack, not believing much of what he was hearing. His posture was still tense and ready for combat. He tapped his foot impatiently for a few seconds. "…And who the fuck are you?"

"Ah, we're uh, members of a… little private group, stationed in this country for a long time." The man took another cautious step back, gauging Prussia's reaction.

Prussia imagined they couldn't be doing anything legal. "Alright, kids." Prussia relaxed minutely. "It's not really my jurisdiction to  _deal_  with you-" That was Spain's and his government's job.

"We know-"

"Shut up." Prussia gritted his teeth at the interruption. "As I was saying, you're not my problem, but that doesn't mean I won't beat the shit out of you if you don't get out of my sight."

Besides being armed and chasing a young woman in the middle of the night, the corners of tattoos could be seen where clothes didn't cover skin. Obvious thugs.

This seemed to annoy the leader, he made a poor attempt at hiding it. He leaned to the side a bit, as if trying to look at the woman, expression shifting to curious confusion. "Wait, wait… Who's that with her…?"

"A drunk friend of mine." Prussia copied his movement. "Better leave, while you still got the chance."

They all sort of had variant versions of the same reaction, annoyed reluctance. They walked back, the leader never looking away from the direction where Cécil was, his eyes saying 'this isn't over' loud and clear.

Prussia tapped his foot as he watched them get into their vehicle and drive away, a lot calmer than when they arrived.

He stopped his tapping and waited in silence for a few more seconds, until he was sure he couldn't hear the engine anymore, then turned to the woman, thumb pointed in the direction they left. "…What the fuck did you do to these people?"

She didn't respond. In fact, she wasn't even looking at him. She had her eyes on the Nation, whom she held rather… lovingly and close to her chest, hand on his cheek, which made Prussia think of the possibilities.

She either knew him, intimately, or… she was one of those internet crazies who thought Nations were gods. There were other minor possibilities, but these were usually the most likely ones in his head.

She suddenly sniffed, briefly looking at him and he could see tears… Ah… "T-Thank you…! So much, for making them leave…!" She wiped her eyes.

"Yeah, that's what I live for…" Prussia moved closer to take the Nation from her arms. "Alright, I have to take Sleeping Beauty over here to a hotel room." Since the bastard wouldn't wake up, even with all the racket.

She gave him a look of pure dismay, not letting go. "B-But I-"

" _You_  should go home."

"I-I shouldn't be walking alone…?"

"Then call an Uber or something…!"

"They were banned last year…!"

Prussia growled in annoyance, successfully prying the Nation from the woman's grabby hands, which made her let out a pathetic sound that reminded him of a kicked puppy. He held his still completely-out-of-it friend over his shoulder for practicality. "My fucking conscience be damned…" He exhaled tiredly. "Follow us, then."

She gave him a teary and grateful smile. "Thank you, señor Nación!" She stood and followed closely.

"Ja, ja…" Prussia rolled his eyes. Here he thought he would be going home by now… What a long night. Germany was probably pacing, a  _lot._

* * *

.

.

.

_He glared darkly at the chains around his wrists, skin chaffed from when he tried to forcefully wriggle his hand out of the loop of metal chained to the wall._

_With no success._

_How pathetic, he thought to himself. How could he get himself captured, by an infidel no less…?! He deserved all the lashes he'd get once he got out of this hole. For being so unbelievably_ incompetent _in a fight with a Crusader Nation._

_With nothing else to do, Al-Andalus leaned back on the wall, glaring daggers at the bars between him and freedom, then turned to observe his cell once again, eyes narrowing further. At least they were smart enough to not leave anything that could serve as possible weapons in his cell. Even the fire holder was placed a little far for him to grab, which left his immediate surroundings rather dark._

_Damn them…_

_Then, the door of the dastardly dungeon was opened, light shining through and getting brighter as someone holding a fire walking in. "Back already?" He mumbled, irritated that his source of frustration was back so soon._

_"I'm sorry my presence bothers you…" The voice said, not sarcastic, just weak and pathetic. "But I told you I would be back soon."_

_He responded with a silent sneer. The infidel woman held a torch, which she placed on the empty metal holder on the wall – still too far for him to grab and run through her throat. She grabbed the stool on the corner and placed at a calculated distance from his cell, where she knew he couldn't quite reach._

_She held that accursed_  book _on her lap._

 _If only he could reach her. He stretched his fingers at the thought. If only he were strong enough to break these damn chains… This conclusion brought the memory of that loathsome Crusader, with his long cross-like sword – seemingly made to send a message –_  smirking,  _like he knew the battle was won before it even began_.

_He shrunk into himself with a glare at the woman. He's not strong enough, so he must endure, as a consequence of his weakness._

_"Sometimes, I feel like you're not listening to anything I'm saying, Hispania." The woman suddenly said, her eyes glued to the open book on her lap._

_"…That's not my name." Al-Andalus hissed through his teeth, the name bringing uncomfortable memories he's long left aside._

_"You_  are _Hispania, taken from us long ago…" She whispered softly. "The Northern Kingdoms cannot belong to a_ stolen _Nation."_

 _"You don't have to worry about that…" His lips formed a menacing grin. "The Northern lands_ will _be mine – your king will be nailed to a cross and_ you _will be a slave."_

_The woman's expression remained passive, shifting into something he could recognize as… pity, which only made him scowl. She blinked slowly, tapping her book before looking down at it. "A Nation without God's guidance is a Nation without direction. Happy are those who keep God's law. Hmm…" She sighed, thinking to herself most likely._

_He scoffed derisively. Who said he didn't have God's guidance? He was following the rules by the book! Who said he's got no direction? He and all the other Nations of the Caliphate knew_  exactly _where they were all going. This woman made no sense whatsoever, and her attempts at wavering his faith with that corrupt book were-_

_"Are you happy…?"_

_"…Huh?" Al-Andalus raised an eyebrow, tone showing his obvious incredulity. "What kind of question is that?"_

_"A simple question… Are you happy?"_

_He stared for a few seconds, his eyes narrowing, then he relaxed and crossed his arms, the chains clanking along. "I get to kill unbelievers like you, serve my human leaders as per told, and enjoy heaven once I'm done… Why_ wouldn't _I be happy?"_

 _Sure, it wasn't the most_  comfortable _station, the humans had a lot of things he wanted, the Sheik got all the pleasure and comfort he asked for, the punishments for breaking even the smallest rules were harsh, and a Nation couldn't even be granted one measly slave_ …  _much less touch a human woman in an indecent manner for some much-needed stress relief_ …

_But these were simply God's rules. Only the Nations who followed the rules would see paradise._

…Sure, _Al-Andalus broke the rules in secret every now and then…_   _but he figured that if he did proper Jihad, he'd be forgiven in the end._

_There was a quick sign of surprise on her expression, which was back to passiveness once again. "Has… anyone told you… how beings like you came to be…?" She asked with caution, head tilting a bit, but her eyes never leaving his own._

_How he came to be…? No, no one has- but why did it matter? He shook his head lightly. "All made by Allah, no? Doesn't_  your _book tell you that as well? I don't see how this is relevant."_

 _She continued to stare with that maddening_ pity _._

_Then she looked upwards pensively. "Man was made by God from the ground up, a perfect creation, and He gave him a pure soul, only for it to be corrupted by sin, making all men imperfect. However, even when corrupt, the human soul is still a wondrous creation… Too many of them in one place, with emotional attachment to their land, a common name to bind and unite them, common customs and language, a bond that lasts through time…" She held her book closer to her chest. "Their souls together create something, like God did. But we're not God, we're imperfect and sinful, we cannot create an actual soul, no matter how many of us there are."_

_He stared glassily at her, the words processing without him noticing._

_"That which doesn't possess a soul cannot inherit heaven, Hispania…" She finished, hugging the book close as she watched him carefully._

_Silence followed for several seconds. "…I have no reason to believe a single word you're saying." He rasped. What does a_ woman _know of spiritual matters anyway? They're deficient, both in spirit and intelligence._

_The woman blinked with sadness glittering in her eyes. Her lips formed a firm line as she stood and approached his cell, close enough that he could certainly reach her if he was fast enough. This was his chance, but… his body was frozen on the floor._

_"Like all animals and all nature were made to be of our service, all Nations too, are to serve us for the same reasons. You're not like us, you_  serve _like all creation because, in your core, you_ know _you were not made to have what was promised to_   _us."_

_His fists clenched until his palms stung and bled. The cell seemed just a bit darker. Her figure looked… just a bit more menacing. He had no words, but oh… how he wanted to rip her apart with his bare hands…_

_._

Spain's breath hitched and he blinked drowsily, a hand was ruffling his hair lightly and stopped, the eyes now staring from above were wide, facial features painfully familiar from the one in his dream, and for half a second, he thought he was looking at the same woman who burned and rebuilt his world so long ago.

Naturally, his answer was to immediately scream and back away.

She did the same, except Spain was the one to fall off the edge of the bed. "Ow, ow…" His legs were still over the bed, and that face appeared again, expression a mix of worry and sympathy, all which he felt clearly through his senses.

His citizen, then. "C-Clarisa…?"

"Holla… Antonio…" She waved weakly.

He felt his cheeks burning, so he quickly sat up to save himself any more embarrassment.

"So." A loud voice interrupted them, they both looked to where a dresser with a mirror laid, its chair occupied by a familiar albino. "You really  _do_  know each other." He nodded to himself with a faux-pensive expressive. "Cute. I'm gonna leave you two alone then." He stood from his seat, going towards the door, stopping as he opened it only to point at them. "Don't fuck in the room I'm paying for." With that, he was gone.

Both shifted uncomfortably. Spain rubbed his temples, a mild headache settling into his head. Clearly, his body wasn't done getting rid of the toxins just yet. Maybe he needed-

A bottle was offered, and Spain blinked at it. Water. Just what he needed. Clarisa wasn't looking at him, preferred to awkwardly look into another direction. Spain took it, feeling just as awkward.

"So… what… are you doing here…?" He asked while unscrewing the cap.

Was this why he dreamed of  _that_  particular memory…? Did he pick up on a familiar presence while out cold and had an unconscious reaction…? Seemed pretty reasonable to say so.

Clarisa, who looked somewhat older, more mature than when he last saw her a little more than half-a-decade before, rubbed her hands together. "I live in this city now."

"Oh… Of course…"

"You…?"

"…I like this one bar here." He looked away as he sipped the drink, which was refreshing and mildly distracting.

"Right, right… I guess… Drinking is better than dealing with any journalists…" She shrugged uneasily.

Spain twitched at the reminder and he backed away a bit. "Right… Yeah. I-I haven't been following anything on what they're saying, really-"

"Wait… You… You haven't?!" Her shock hit him along with a hefty dose of relief and a bit of confusion. Women… they always had too many emotions at once…

"No…?"

"I- But-" She stopped, as if unable to continue that train of thought, then huffed in anger. She always got tongue-tied when nervous, he noted with some amusement, which he tried to hide. "Look," Clarisa took a deep breath. "they know you're hiding, and they're saying that you're hiding because 'you know you've done wrong' and now they feel righteous about going after you. You… You shouldn't be  _hiding!"_

Spain stared in surprise for a few seconds, but then lowered his head, hands gripping the plastic bottle tighter. "But I  _have_  done wrong."

Clarisa sighed in dismay. "…I thought you had forgiven yourself years ago."

He let out a bitter chuckle. "That was before the whole world could judge me." He stood, leaving the bottle on the ground. "This is different now, I…" He paced a bit before crossing his arms. "I'm not going to defend myself  _by_   _myself."_ It wasn't possible, the social media age was  _too fast_  for him to keep up on his own.

He doesn't think any Nation ever had to actually defend their actions, even under  _normal_  circumstances. Spain didn't think he was even capable of doing it without sounding like he was just making mere  _excuses,_  that is, if they didn't accuse him of lying straight away.

No, he wasn't going to dig himself in that hole.

When he looked at Clarisa again, she was pinching the bridge of her nose, but then she looked at him with her lips in a straight line. "If you had been a bit more present in the discourse, you'd have noticed that you're  _not_  by yourself! There  _are_  people defending you!"

Spain blinked, uncrossing his arms loose. "Eh?"

"And," She continued. " _I'm_ defending you! I've been arguing on your behalf for  _weeks_  now! I can't  _believe_  you were hiding so much that you didn't notice  _any_  of this!" She threw her arms up in exasperation before covering her now reddened face with both hands.

Spain backed away in astonishment. "W-Why  _would_  you-?! Didn't I  _hurt_  you?! Why are you risking your  _future_  to play devil's advocate for  _me?!_  Why would  _anyone-!"_

Clarisa had moved from her spot to stand in front of him, her hand covering his mouth. "Just stop freaking out…!" She removed her hand slowly after a few seconds. "Breathe, calm down…"

He did just that while she backed away from his personal space. "…I just don't get it."

Clarisa sighed quietly. "Don't get me wrong… you  _did_  hurt me, leaving out of  _nowhere_  like that… but, uh… you know… ignoring reality wasn't really my forte. You were right, you couldn't stay forever." She gestured to herself. "I'm approaching my thirties soon, and… look at you, still…" Her brows were tilted sharply upwards as she tried smiling, coming off as a difficult attempt with the sadness he could sense, and he could see the light wrinkles this expression highlighted.

"Ah…" Spain backed away a bit more, feeling guilt twist into his gut. "I shouldn't even have approached you like that… You could have been married by now." And with a  _family_  as well. Mothers felt a bit differently to him – and maybe to all Nations as well – so he knew, she never had any children.

He knew she'd always wanted some little ones. But of course, he can't give anyone that…

She rubbed a hand over the ringless finger, seemingly unconsciously because her eyes remained on him. Spain caught a brief feeling of longing, which was gone quickly, making him feel like even  _more_  shit than before. "That's fine." She commented quietly. "I think I found purpose somewhere else either way… I went to college, to become a historian. Aaand… I've been gathering followers online." She sighed at the last few words with mildly amused resignation.

Followers… If she defended him, and had people on her side… Were they okay with him then? Spain caught something worrying in her words, though.

He sat on the chair by the dresser, ruffling his hair and then shaking his head lightly. "Is there anything  _else?"_ He looked up at her with narrowed eyes.

Her brows rose but she quickly recovered. "What else?"

"Anything you should tell me?" He raised an eyebrow back at her, catching the sudden anxiety.

"Well… There are a million things I would like to talk about, but I wouldn't know where to even start…!" She backed away and sat on the bed, intertwining her fingers over her lap.

Half-truths. Spain nodded. Of course, she had sort of learned how to lie to him, but her attempt was still not good enough. Well… Should he even be pressuring her?

Was it even his business? He told himself he would cut ties years ago. He had already been a self-serving prick for even entering her life like that. He didn't approach because she was Clarisa Cécil. He had decided things before he'd even  _talked_  to her.

He did so because… He looked up again, seeing her worried expression. Because of whom she  _looked_   _like_ , and that was that. He scoffed and hid his face behind his hands. In the end, he never truly changed, huh? Rotten to the core, then…

"…You know I'm lying… right?" Her tone was tired and uneager. She had no idea what he was actually thinking, which was a relief overall.

Spain nodded but remained silent. He focused on this less worrying matter… What if it was something dangerous? He should protect his humans unquestionably, because they were all he'd  _ever_  have. There was  _nothing_  without them. He's learned that from  _her_ and he kept it close to his heart since then.

"Alright, alright… Alright." Clarisa nodded, eyes cast down. "I didn't want you to get involved with these people… They're… unsavory folks. Violent."

Spain blinked lazily, frowning. "…I'm sure I can handle such people." Violence is an old friend of his, after all…

"No." She snapped, making him flinch back. "This is not something you can brawl your way out of! Not when your identity is public!"

Spain narrowed his eyes, looking away from her. He remained quiet, but the thought of stealth assassinations stuck in the dark corners of his mind, like a coiled snake ready to strike at the moment he indulged the idea.

Almost as if sensing this, Clarisa stood, hands clasped together as if begging him. "Okay, now listen to me, Antonio. The media  _loves_  you…!"

Spain almost jumped from his seat. "Huh?!"

"You give them  _ratings,_  better than they've had on their own for a long time! They make  _money_  out of you!" She gestured to him as a whole. "Whatever you do, whoever you get yourself involved with, they'll focus on it, and if you ever end up getting involved with those unsavory people, we don't know what kind of stories they'll spin…! You're already in a tight position with all the conspiracies they spun around you, while you were hiding!"

Spain stared wide eyed. He had ignored the media entirely. He never even really turned the TV on or touched social media on his phone after the first few times he caught negative reactions. He was completely in the dark, and sometimes, he indulged with the idea that he was being paranoid, that it wasn't  _that_  bad out there.

The pure and unrelenting feeling of judgment wasn't part of his imagination after all. Hearing the confirmation of his fears showed him what foolish and dangerous ideas he'd been messing with. "…What do I do…?"

He didn't know how to deal with this and he regretted leaving his house at this point.

"Understand this, Antonio…" Clarisa held his face so he was directly facing her, she was somber. "They love you because they love to  _hate_  you. They don't care about what damage they cause you as long as you keep making them money. Not just you, but all Nations in Europe and North America. You  _cannot_  make any type of connection to these people, so promise me you  _won't."_

He could never stand his ground in front of this face…

* * *

Prussia chewed on his snack, leaning over the railing as he watched the dining hall below. The stairs to his side led down there in a near-straight path curving just slightly at the few steps. The opposite side was another railing, and behind was the hallway that led to rooms and elevator doors that led up, to more rooms. From his spot, nothing could sneak up on him.

He procured such a spot because he's been feeling somewhat jumpy.

Taking another bite, he continued to watch the area, making sure to check for any suspicious characters trying to go near the room Spain and the woman – Cécil – were.

It was easy, as there were very few people around. It seems there was a private event being held somewhere upstairs, which was why he could faintly hear muffled music somewhere above. An entire floor must have been rented for the night…

So far, nobody who passed by seemed off to his eyes. He took the last bite of his snack – something that resembled a muffin of sorts, which Prussia couldn't name – then pulled out his phone, as the place had been quiet for a while, so maybe a few seconds wouldn't hurt.

_Where are you?_

_At Spain's._

That was before arriving at the bar.

_You reveal things about me to the entire country and then run to Spain's? What is wrong with you?_

Only once he left Spain with the woman did he reply to his brother.

_They won't bite if you just stand up for yourself for once. Go deal with them on your own, you're not a child._

The whole exchange was passive-aggressive at best. His brother was  _not_  happy with Prussia revealing secrets like that…

Germany probably decided to focus on his work as a way of ignoring him, because he hasn't answered yet, despite the fact that the message was marked as read. Prussia sighed tiredly. He wasn't arrogant enough to think he'd stick around longer than his brother, so he couldn't keep holding his hand…

As Prussia contemplated this, he heard a small commotion downstairs. He blinked and looked at its direction, towards the entrance of the dining hall.

He saw the night guard arguing with two men, both dressed in minimally formal attire with coats of no particular visible quality. Looking to appear of finer class than they actually were and kind of failing too. Prussia watched them argue.

_"We're just looking for some people, if you don't mind-"_

_"Sir, we're not allowed to give information about our clients to suspicious individuals-"_

Prussia narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Could they be…? He moved away to hide better.

_"Look, pal-"_

_"Sir, please, don't make me call more security."_

Geez, how insistent, Prussia thought, having peeled himself away from the railing and now standing further into the hallway. It seemed the new arrivals didn't actually want trouble, because they were soon leaving. But now Prussia was rather curious. Were they with the same people from before?

He turned on his heels and went back to his first room quickly, reaching it and opening the door quickly, which made both Spain and Cécil jump and back away from each other with a high-pitched 'hie' sound. Prussia casually ran past them and towards the window. "No touching, remember~?" He sang as he opened the window, climbing out without giving either of them any explanations whatsoever as he ignored Spain's feeble questioning.

He  _knew_  there was something between the two. Any Nation falling for a human was basically  _asking_  for all the pain they got out of it.

"Don't mind me, go back to what you were doing, whatever  _that_  was. Seriously,  _stay_   _there."_  He sent them a firm look with his last words, and with then he was out and climbing upwards.

Thank the heavens the building wasn't an ugly glass box that was impossible to climb. He passed by all the closed windows, quietly confirming to himself that indeed, there was a little party happening too.

Too bad he was somewhat famous now. He couldn't just barge in to lay siege and take their supply of alcohol.

He focused on the task at hand again, the building wasn't too tall and Prussia reached the top in less than a minute. He leaned over the edge, where he quickly zeroed on the two men, the rest of the street empty and illuminated by the hotel itself and a few street lights.

They walked away and Prussia followed over the rooftops easily, jumping over obstacles easily enough – just rifts from alleyways, not hard to jump over to the next buildings, taller or shorter.

He finally stopped a few blocks away, where a car awaited in front of an alley, its engine still running quietly.

It wasn't the same from before, probably. Prussia could only guess as he watched from a distance. Someone waited outside as the other two approached. Prussia wanted to hear it a bit better, so he moved to the alleyway side of the building and climbed down a few windows, one hand holding to the sill – which groaned lightly but quickly settled – and feet on the wall for better support.

The one who had been waiting looked up from his phone at the two new arrivals. "Did you find out where they went?"

"Sí, that hotel a just few blocks from here."

"Security was too suspicious, so we had to leave."

"Tch, have just a slightly darker skin and suddenly nobody gives you an inch."

"Or maybe it was just the clothes…"

"Yeah right… I know how people are in the north."

"Enough of that…" The first one interrupted tiredly, then sighed. "We won't be encountering the lord today, boys. It's for another time, I guess." The man put his phone in his pocket, then pulled from the other a box of cigarettes, which one of the others lit.

Prussia raised an eyebrow. Who's the 'lord' now? He doubted they were talking about God. They probably knew they were following a Nation, so… Oh, good god… Prussia facepalmed. Were they…  _those_  lunatics? The ones who would drop to their knees at the drop of a hat for their Nation?

Maybe some would be flattered, but Prussia found this ridiculous. Humans desperate to worship something other than God were the  _worst._

Did they assume he'd be meeting Spain somewhere? Maybe they didn't think the  _drunkard_  he was carrying could  _possibly_  be their 'lord'. Prussia scoffed quietly in amusement, knowing the sound wouldn't reach too far down.

"Dear Cécil doesn't know the blessing she's been granted. If only she'd cooperated, we probably would-"

The one smoking calmly interrupted. "No need for disappointment. Patience is a virtue, after all." He leaned back on the car. "The lord  _will_  lead the  _Garduña_  to greatness once again after centuries. Our country is flooding with undesirables who taint our lord's blood, but there's still hope – we still have  _plenty_  of time…"

Prussia narrowed his eyes. Great… an identitarian cult. But the name sounded vaguely familiar, so he wondered if he should just go back and ask Spain. These were  _his_  people, not Prussia's.

As they opened the car's doors, Prussia relaxed as his weight leaned him further, watching as he debated on whether he should follow them or not. However, he heard a crack from the window sill, the old structure giving away under his weight.

Prussia gritted his teeth and grabbed the one bellow before he could fall, the broken sill falling to the floor with a loud 'clank'. "…Shit…" Prussia then looked down at the three men, now staring wide-eyed at him. "Uh… hallo."

A lot of things happened in those next few seconds. Two of the man seemed to panic and quickly got into the car, but the last one pulled out a gun instead, which made Prussia gasp. His feet pushed and he flipped himself off the wall just as a bullet hit his previous spot, the gunshot ringing in the air.

Prussia fell to the ground with a crouch. "Oh, you little-!" As he was about to sprint forward to grab the gun, the shocked man was pulled by the back of his coat inside the car by someone yelling curses from there and it sped away before even closing the door, with a loud grinding of rubber on asphalt and of an engine at full force.

Prussia ran out of the alleyway only to seem the car too far for him to ever reach. His fists clenched as he glared at its retreating form, and then finally huffed, crossing his arms. "Goddamn it…" He could hear dogs barking all around him, it was like the whole neighborhood was suddenly awake. "Tch… I should get out of here." He turned back to the alleyway to climb back up to the top of the building, intending to go back the same way he came.

Someone would be calling the cops, so he  _really_  couldn't be found right where a gun was shot.

His most-likely-now-sober Spanish friend had one hell of a problem in his hands. Prussia didn't take a vacation from his country only to help deal with more stressful issues in another Nation's country, Spain already owned him enough, so Prussia wasn't about to stick himself into this nonsense.

He was getting  _really_  tired of holding everyone's hand, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More context and information in the original News Feed entry on FF.net.


	26. Sharing & Timing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's been a while. Life got in the way.
> 
> Uh… BTW, I'll probably be busy for a few more months, so odds are, there won't be any chapter for that long. 3-5 months, I believe. So, I thought I could leave you a YT playlist to keep you lot busy? I've been building this playlist to keep track of all the things that inspire me to write this as well as anything I find interesting or important information, as well as whatever I find funny or thought-provoking on these cultural/political/social matters, along with some difficult and unpopular opinions that I don't necessarily hold, but still found interesting in a way. 
> 
> So if you want, you can browse through it all you want. Just look up |Culture War by MayFlower Ann| on YouTube, it should have enough content to keep anyone busy for a quite a few months. All latest entries are of recent issues. Yes, I'm completely shameless for offering this.

**Near Melbourne (UTC +10) 00:27 a.m.**

"This is really on short notice, you know? Just  _why_  is this necessary?" Australia grimaced, phone in between his ear and shoulder while his hands were busy.

"Ouch…" The little girl flinched, but remained sitting on the stool in front where he sat on the couch.

Australia winced as he tried to properly do her hair. Little Wy, not much older than a toddler in appearance, just huffed and crossed her arms. He couldn't see her expression, but he guessed she looked at least somewhat bored.

Australia focused on his conversation again. "What was that?"

" _I_ said _I have my reasons… I just think it would be better if we moved this to dad's place instead of here."_ America explained on the other end of the line and he sounded rather sheepish.

Australia sighed. "Look, Yankee, I can't just  _not_  give dad a reason for that? You  _know_  how persnickety he gets when you change plans without explaining." He clarified as he tried once again to warp the ribbon with a different technique. Wy titled her head to the side to make it easier and Australia mouthed a 'thank you'.

There was an over-exaggerated sigh on the other side.  _"Okay, fiiine. It's just that… my boss and I aren't really getting along right now, so…"_

Australia stopped and blinked in surprise. "Crikey, really? What happened?" Only then he continued.

" _It's Election stuff… There's this candidate he doesn't like and he thinks-_  really _thinks I'm about to endorse him on_  live TV _or something. I'm literally not_ allowed _to put my cards on anyone, ever!"_

"Sucks to be you, mate."

" _Bite me."_

Australia snickered, finally finishing his task with a last pull. It was a bit sloppy, but it looked  _fine._  Wy turned to pick up the mirror next to him. His hand now free, he picked the phone directly. "Okay, alright, I'll ask dad. I'm sure he can sort a good place in no time. Is Canada coming with you?"

" _Yeah, we're spending a day or two here first."_

"Why can't you come  _here?_ I'd be happy to have you lot again."

" _Because your house is a terrifying menagerie!"_

"It's not  _that_  bad."

" _Giant spiders…!"_

"Ah… Fair enough." Wuss.

" _Anyway, thanks for the favor, we're even."_ There was a mild pause. _"For that last favor you asked."_

Australia rolled his eyes. "Okay, we're squared. No worries."

" _Yeah, see ya in a few days!"_ After the cheerful farewell, the line went dead and Australia sighed, putting the phone down.

"So, how is it?" He asked.

Wy had sat quietly until his phone call was done, had stared for a few seconds at her reflection again, then lowered the mirror with a sigh. Australia fidgeted on the spot.

"It… looks okay, daddy." She tried smiling, but anyone could see it was fake.

The hair was indeed a mess, who was he kidding? Australia's posture crumbled and he fell back on the couch with a slouch, letting out a soft whine.

Wy patted his knee. "You'll get it right… One day." She stood and walked outside, already used to his disastrous attempts. She didn't undo the tiny tragedy that was her hairdo, but he's sure she just didn't want to offend.

Australia stood after glaring at the ceiling. He better make some dinner. That was at least something he could do decently  _enough_. Later he'd have another call to make.

However, first, he went up to the doorway and leaned against the frame, the doors were wide open, the big yard was illuminated by the lights of his house, along with the moon above them. He could see Wy joining her brother Hutt, who had been playing catch with a wild dog as he browsed on his new phone.

That kid was his oldest, and Australia had him for a little more than three decades now and he hadn't grown past the physical age of a 10-year old boy. He wasn't sure what to do when he found him, so he had been a bit distant, all while always letting him know who was in charge, but still trying to always be cool and likable.

The little girl, though… He's only known about her for 10 months now, she was a little older than a year, so it was no wonder she was so small.

He's never taken care of a  _little girl,_  though. She wasn't like Hutt. It was  _different_  to him in a way, and it was a bit nerve-wracking, to say the least. He usually found himself trying to actually be a good  _father_ instead of a boss and caretaker, hoping she wouldn't become so independent that she didn't need him around at all.

He's heard fathers tended to be more protective of little girls.

Although… Child-Nation weren't like human children. They were naturally independent. Australia knows his own father spent many years on his own with no adult supervision whatsoever, in the woods, with dangerous animals.

He was born knowing instinctively how to survive through that vulnerable stage of his life.

He guessed they weren't  _made_  to need a caretaker, which naturally made him feel that his attempts at raising Wy were completely meaningless, if not vain on his part.

Australia ruffled his hair, watching as Hutt and Wy began to argue about something, probably about who would get to throw the ball next, and then watched with a deadpan as it escalated.

Tiny Wy was no match to Hutt and it soon turned into a small brawl where he easily immobilized the girl by sitting on her back, and she thrashed and floundered while yelling for Hutt to get off, a demand which he casually ignored with a smug smile as he threw the ball for the dog to catch again.

Australia chortled. Some soft humans would probably call it abuse or something, but for Nations, ruff play was pretty normal. Hutt was incredibly  _tame_  for his age, to be honest. Australia remembers doing much worse to New Zealand back when they were children living with their father.

" _Daddyyy! Help meeee!"_  Came the distressed cry.

Australia grinned brightly, clapping lightly to get their attention. "Alright, you two, that's enough play for now." He went to separate the two and save his little girl.

He'd be spending these last few days enjoying some peace and quiet with his kids.

After all, this reunion would be the first time the rest of his family met Wy… He was hoping this calm family time would make up for whatever happened then.

* * *

**Maryland – Near Washington D.C (-4 UTC) 10:35 a.m.**

America tipped his old red cap lower, then placed his phone back in his jacket's pocket, opening the door of the car he'd parked just in front of the airport. He didn't want to stand in public for too long these days, but he could already sense his brother's presence approaching, so he went around and leaned against the door, facing the airport entrance.

Just in time, the automatic doors opened. America waited for him to cross the road.

There was Canada, with  _so_  little disguise. His natural tendency to disappear played to his advantage and he only had his hair tied and wore a simple T-shirt as well, despite the fact that it wasn't that hot, America himself wore his jacket as usual. But Canada was awfully sensitive to heat…

Besides that, any Nation had that same tendency to be unnoticeable, but Canada's was seemingly hiked up to 11 and he could virtually become invisible to humans at will, which was a useful power to have, even if he couldn't quite control it when young.

Canada smiled tiredly, adjusting the backpack he was carrying. "Thanks for coming to pick me up, brother."

America grinned back. "It's no problem. I'm glad you could make it." They exchanged quick bro handshakes and an even quicker hug. "Come on. I don't wanna stay here too long." America wasted no more time and went over to the other side.

"Back with this old one?" Canada asked in amusement, opening the door and sitting inside, referring to the fact that America was back to an older car model.

America was already beside him, turning the key. "Yep, I figured it wouldn't look good if I cruised around on brand new Sports all the time. I'll just look like a shallow snob. Guess I won't be retiring this baby just yet!"

"She's still running well? It's been more than a decade!"

He sounded impressed, so America puffed up with some pride in his handiwork.

"It's fine, I'm a great mechanic." America waved him off, opening the windows so he could lean his arm out while maneuvering his way out of the airport. It was indeed fine. America usually kept a car for as long as possible, since he usually got a bit attached, but he always had to switch at some point. She looked great for her age, but he was glad to keep her for some extra time.

Canada relaxed on his seat, having placed his backpack behind his seat with his usual tidy movements. "Well, anyway, did you manage to switch locations?"

"I did!" America exclaimed, but quieted down quickly, sheepishly. "Uh, well, I'm trusting Aussie will manage to convince dad… I'm sure he will, so either way, consider it done!"

Canada gave him a stern 'mom-look'. "You didn't talk to him yourself? How long will you be avoiding him?"

America huffed. "I'm not  _avoiding_  him, I just thought it would be awkward to talk now. I'll sort this out once I'm in front of him. For now, this is less risky." America certainly couldn't wait to shove some truths on the man's face, but it would be better if they were face to face. At least then, they'd be able to sort things out with their fists if necessary.

"The risk being…?"

"Of getting into an argument, and then we're  _not_  switching locations, which means we would have to have our little pow-wow  _here,_  where my boss can try and  _spy_  on me!" America explained with fake cheeriness.

"Why would he…?"

America rolled his eyes with exasperation. "He thinks I'm plotting behind his back."

Canada nodded in understanding after a second. "Well…Why don't we just go to Australia's ranch then? It was great last time, if a little too hot… But still great." He gave him a questioning look.

America winced. "Did you forget what happened  _last time…?!"_  He visibly shivered. "I don't want to find another giant spider crawling on my bed again…!" No giant bugs. Since  _that_  little debacle, he's been dreading the next visit. It was offensive enough that he didn't have any AC, but giant spiders he  _really_  couldn't handle.

That meant, if he could avoid it, like this time, he would. So he needed a new place. It couldn't be at Canada's place, since he only had one small house – being the humble one in the family – where it's usually too  _cold_  to live… or too cold for America at least.

That left the British Isles as his best spot at the moment. Either their uncles' places or their father's.

"Ooh… It  _was_  a big spider…" Canada then couldn't handle the memory, it seems, and proceeded to laugh in that soft manner of his. "You glued yourself to the fan on the ceiling…!"

"That wasn't funny!"

"I'm surprised it didn't fall off with your weight."

"Hey, hey, I-I'm not that heavy…!"

"Don't be like that, I didn't call you fat or anything…!" Canada continued to laugh, although he tried to keep it quiet.

"…I'm starting to regret inviting you here."

"No backsies."

"You tundra-dwelling prick."

"Beach-dwelling hoser."

Just as America stopped at a traffic light, they turned to glare at each other for a few brief moments, then burst out laughing.

"Nice, brother…!" Canada covered his mouth in an attempt to calm down.

America grinned. He hadn't actually seen his brother in a while… He was supposed to have visited him after the Meeting, but considering how busy he'd been right after it, with his own image to craft and his own people to talk to, he ended up using his encrypted server to send an untraceable message instead. It was lazy, in a way, but easier…

He didn't like using that server so often, afraid of his government getting suspicious of his  _supposed_  lack of activity…

Then the lights were green again and they were off once more. "Okay, we'll be arriving at my D.C. place in a little less than an hour." America began. "So, how have you been doing since we last spoke? Media treating you okay?"

Canada seemed to pause at the question, leaning way too far back into seat. "They're… fine. There isn't a lot of dirt they can pin on me so quickly. Although people online are less subtle about wanting to find something."

"You tell me." America sighed dramatically. "I'm in some dude's 'suspected white supremacist' list on Twitter now. Oh boo."

"Funny, so am I…" Canada mumbled. "When did I ever do anything to deserve  _that…?"_

"Reason need not apply." America shrugged. "I'm getting more and more tired of this new lifestyle…" America felt that he's never quite appreciated anonymity as he should. Now he lost it… Odds are, life would never be the same, and while he could adapt and while he knew he could deal with this… he wasn't sure how others were coping internally.

If someone like him was having some trouble, then…

Someone like Canada must be miserable inside, even though he didn't quite show it – until then. Case in point, Canada sighed melancholy at his words, head turning to the window to watch the passing scenery, his mood sobering with the topic.

America tapped the steering wheel, glancing at him worriedly. "…Things are a bit more complicated for you, I'm guessing."

Canada kept staring through the glass. A few seconds of silence passed. "I'm… not like you. I can't show up for an  _interview_ … I can't make people like me through a  _broadcast_ … If they're not my citizens  _in front_  of me, then I can  _only_  rely on my own personality, and…" The words were suddenly stuck and he said no more.

America frowned. Canada was… quieter. Subdued, usually. He didn't like conflict and he certainly didn't like being the center of attention like this. Relying on the fact that he's a Nation always helped him get along with his people, but he wasn't terribly charismatic with strangers who didn't naturally felt at ease for being his citizen. No one could tell through broadcasting.

Canada has always expressed a certain fear of speaking to crowds, but he never had to face that before. How was he going to deal with so many eyes on him, judging, asking questions,  _waiting_  for him to make any mistake?

So America was worried,  _of course._  Canada was, for all intents on purposes, his twin brother, they've gone through a lot together, so he wanted to help. His brother needed someone to talk to who actually understood what he was feeling.

America was more than glad to help. But he could let neither American nor Canadian citizens notice that he was doing such things.

People would think Canada  _relied_  on him or  _needed_  his help. It would only hurt his brother in the long run. For now, they're just brothers hanging out. America didn't want his brother to be perceived as weak and in need of emotional support…

No human feels pride in a weak Nation.

Some online communities were starting to  _compare_  Nations, wishing they could have  _this_  or  _that_  Nation instead. Some were saying they wanted to move out and be another Nation's citizen. Canada certainly didn't need to hear any of his own citizens saying he wasn't good enough for them. Or maybe Canada already knew, and had no confidence to speak for himself in public and convince them otherwise…

If it felt like a slap in the face for America, it sure as hell would feel like a punch in the gut to Canada.

Beyond that… America didn't want  _his_  people to think he was a controlling brother who didn't even let Canada deal with his own problems without butting in like a perfect  _busy-body._

They stopped at the last traffic light before getting into a bigger highway that would take them straight to D.C., through a path that left the bigger city behind until they got to the capital in a little while.

Canada seemed to be mulling over something. "Anything in your mind now?" America wondered as he watched other cars pass by.

"…Well…" Canada began with hesitation, but then nodded with some more firmness as America drove forward. "I have this psychologist-"

America pressed the break by accident, making them lurch a bit forward. "What?!" Luckily, there was no one behind his car close enough to honk at this, so after a second of panic, he quickly accelerated back to normal speed, all while trying not to sound too weirded out. "You have… a shrink?! Just… why?"

"Don't judge." Canada rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "I just felt like I needed someone to talk to…"

America turned to him a bit slowly, as if brusque movements would make Canada jump off the car. "Who hires a shrink, just because they want to  _talk…?_  Why couldn't you, I dunno, talk to  _me?_  We're brothers, right?" He felt a bit hurt… Didn't his brother trust him enough to even  _talk…?_

Canada seemed to wither on his seat, leaning away from America uncomfortably. "I couldn't talk to  _you_ … My personal problems are my business."

"And the shrink's as well…" America sighed and raised a hand. "Okay,  _why_  are you telling me this…?"

Canada intertwined his fingers over his lap. "I've been thinking about what I could do, so people will feel more at ease with me…  _existing_  and all." Canada winced, speech speeding up as he felt more nervous. "I thought… maybe I could let Dr. Preston talk about some of the things I told him and make a case for me. Maybe then people would see I have problems too and see that I'm not that different from any human… I thought… it was a good plan…"

America narrowed his eyes, staring ahead at the speeding road passing by as he thought. He shouldn't be so nervous, unless it involved him, so… "What did you tell this guy about  _me?"_

"Nothing much, just…"

"Just  _what?"_

Canada recoiled, his tone a nervous higher pitch with a hesitant smile, trying to weasel his way out of the corner America put him in. "Uh… I…"

Of course, he said  _something._  There was definitely something about him in there, and he didn't like it. "You can't go out talking about these things!" America glanced at him with a heated stare. "It could really damage my image! And I can't have that now!"

"It's nothing bad, I don't think you need to concern yourself with it…"

"Oh, yeah?" America rolled his eyes. "Did you  _lie_  then? Did you say I was a  _great_  brother and all?"

"I kinda said you were…" Canada took a deep breath. "a spoiled and mean kid…"

America fumed on the spot, keeping his tone low. "I  _don't_  need my people to know that." Not with the media looking for any dirt on him. America knows he wasn't exactly a good brother to Canada, especially when England brought him in. He's proud to say he's grown and changed a lot from those days, but something like that could really do some damage to the good image he's carefully trying to build.

"I didn't say it like that. Just that dad paid a lot more attention to you and that you didn't like me very much… It's not so bad."

He knew they would latch on to absolutely  _anything_  they could get their hands on. He had to hope that at least his  _family_  would put up a decent word. The last thing those vultures could know was how much he'd wronged his own brother in the past. They already guessed enough with 1812.

"I don't like this." America sighed deeply. "If you wanna let your people know some stuff about you, fine, but leave me out of it."

"It would look like I'm hiding something and it would be suspicious, don't you think?"

"Then do something else."

"Like what?"

America shrugged. "Just talk to people you're close to. You got the email, didn't you? Get into contact with people."

"I did receive it. It's just… I don't usually keep in touch… I think it would be awkward, and it would look like I just want favors…"

America threw his hands up in exasperation, making an annoyed sound before focusing on the street again.

Canada shifted on his seat. "…Sorry, I shouldn't have said anything here…"

America didn't respond right away. After a few seconds, he exhaled tiredly. "Let's forget about this  _for now._  I don't wanna fight here."

"…Yeah."

After that, they remained silent, alone with their own thoughts.

' _Great way to start the weekend, stupid.'_ America thought, feeling like his brother was thinking the exact same thing.

* * *

_"You shouldn't be doing this… Mister England said not to touch his things." Canada spoke softly, clutching his small stuffed bear. He kept his head down, staring at the grass beneath his feet._

_His new 'brother' scoffed, continuing to fiddle with the pistol he had taken from his father's study. The man wasn't around to see it. "It's fine! I'll put it back once I'm done." He grinned, waving the weapon carelessly._

" _That's loaded; stop pointing it at me…"_

" _I'm not going to shoot you, calm down." America pointed it at the target he set up at the tree with a dramatic and excited flair. "Dad said not to touch the trigger until you're ready to use it." The target was on one of the many trees circling the clearing their house was in._

_Canada sighed, taking a step back. Even if England showed up right then and caught America in the act, he wouldn't get much more than a stern talking._

_America aimed with comical focus, tongue sticking out and all, then pulled the trigger. Canada twitched harshly at the sound. Birds flew in fright at the noise, the sound echoed all around, especially in his head. "Ha!" America examined the target from a distance for a few seconds before grinning brightly. "Yes!" He threw his arms up in delight, laughing loudly. "I'm so good at this! Did you see that? So close!"_

_It hit relatively close to the center, which Canada expected in a way. Mister England had a good aim as well…_

_"Hey, why don't you try?" America offered nonchalantly, holding the pistol by the barrel and offering it to him. Canada gasped and stepped away, shaking his head. If he were the one caught taking things without permission, he's sure the punishment would be much more severe. America certainly wouldn't admit he was the one who took it to save his 'brother's' skin._

_Besides… "…Je n'aime pas ça…" He didn't like these weapons…_

_America had shrugged at his refusal, but glanced at him with a quizzical look when hearing the words. "You're not supposed to be speaking French, you know?" He walked back to the tree stump behind them, where he'd left the reloading gear and bullets._

_All taken without permission._

_Canada pouted but preferred to remain quiet._

… _French was all he had left of his old life, why couldn't he speak it every now and then…?_

 _America suddenly snickered as he went through the process of reloading the weapon. "You know, dad said the French are a bunch of frog people." There was no other reason to say this, other than poking fun at him. Sometimes he felt like his new brother_  really _didn't like him…_

_Canada's brows tilted upwards and he clutched the bear tighter. "I'm not a frog." He stated petulantly._

_America smiled when he turned to him. One might mistake it as well-intentioned kindness in his expression. Canada could only see mocking pity with a forced shrug. "Well, maybe if you stop speaking French you won't turn into a frog like your old dad. How about that?"_

_Canada's expression pinched and he turned away, sniffing._

_"_   _…Crybaby." America went back to aiming, seemingly not caring about the emotional blow thrown._

_No one in this new place ever cared. Mister England didn't care about him and America hated him._

_He wanted to go home._

_He wanted to see his father again…_

_._

Canada blinked, his thoughts back in reality. He focused again on his task, which was, filling the car's tank with gas.

His talk with his brother certainly brought some memories back. America liked to pretend to be innocent back then, but he was mean when he wanted to be. Canada learned quickly to be quiet and avoid drawing England's attention whenever he was around, because America  _hated_  sharing that attention. So avoiding that nasty side of him hinged on being  _invisible._

Out of sight, out of mind. As long as he kept that, America would tolerate him, sometimes even be nice. But he would always be _… territorial._

England put him in the same room as America at first, wanting them to get along. America tried everything to convince the man to not do it, but England wouldn't budge on the matter and he easily got him to quiet down and accept it. The room was his territory, but so was the  _house,_  and as petty revenge, America kicked him out whenever England wasn't around.

For months.

Going to the town for help was useless, since people could hardly  _see_  him. But that was fine, Canada could survive with a bow and arrow in the woods on his own, he was okay with that…That was just  _one_  of the many hardships caused by his brother's difficult temper and he would eventually get used to them.

The list of America's jealousy fits was pretty  _long._ Like one lesson at a time.

So from being taken from France by England, to having to adapt to America, to then being sent back to his homeland solely  _because_  of America's fight for independence, Canada's childhood was a difficult time for him.

America would, of course, grow up and leave that aspect of his personality behind, mature like anyone else, but Canada certainly didn't believe that had happened by 1812 – the reason why Canada didn't believe a damn word that came out of his brother's mouth back then. Supposedly, he wanted to  _help_  him, free him from England like he himself had done, but Canada knew better.

That was just an excuse.

There was no England to keep him on a leash, so he lost control and was just stretching his boundaries,  _settling._ Canada was wise enough at that point to push him back, and luckily, Mexico was too, so he  _finally_  settled comfortably once his neighbors established their boundaries. Mexico wasn't exactly capable of avoiding the losses – England certainly helped Canada avoid that – and strangely enough, America found a  _new brother_ , someone he was willing to  _share_  the land with.

Canada didn't think that would ever last, and he was  _right._ All he could do was watch from the sidelines, with that tiny spec of vengefulness in the back of his mind, wondering if his dear old 'brother' would get himself killed by his own inability to share territory.

Why did he always focus so much on his brother…? There was much more to his life than all that happened between them, but for some reason, he kept coming back to that.

His thoughts swiveled back to himself, his own problems, and his previous plan. Would people feel even the slightest bit sympathetic? Would they feel pity? Or not care? Was it a bad idea, to show weakness to his own people? He didn't much care what other non-citizens thought, but his own people's thoughts mattered.

Did he want to be respected for his ability and strength to defend them, or did he want them to understand he wasn't so different, that his emotions were as real as anybody's? Could he have both…?

It's quite possible Dr. Preston could somehow paint a case for both; the man was very articulate with words… Canada found it easier to understand his own issues with someone's help, but it certainly helped when said person was so good at rooting them out and analyzing them in a cohesive manner. He really wanted this to be the case for anyone who heard what the man had to say of him, for everything to turn out okay…

But disappointing at least  _one_  citizen, who's to say thousands, or millions, was a bit too inevitable.

Shaking his head, Canada took the pump off, having filled the tank to its near full-capacity, and looked around the gas station. It wasn't so full, but he inevitably focused on his brother on the other side of the vehicle, now arguing with someone. Canada hadn't noticed, busy with his own thoughts as he was, but it just sounded like his brother was being petty and childish again.

Canada never understood his urge to mess with his own people. He didn't find it fun to confuse his citizens for kicks or argue with them… Pettiness and childishness were always part of his brother's personality, although they rarely reared their heads into the light these days, and even when they did, it's never to be really mean.

A stark change from when they were children.

So he watched with a tranquil posture, only moving to place the gas pump back in its place.

"It's just a  _hat,_  man." America sounded very bewildered, adjusting his cap over his head.

The kid, near late teens, in front of him seemed  _frustrated_ , taking a step back, closing his eyes, breathing in, raising his hands in amity as if trying to calm down and starting his explanation all over again. "I  _know._ It's just that… y-you wearing a hat that looks exactly like that  _other_   _one_ , it's like you're sending a message-"

"What message…?!"

"a-and I'm sorry, I don't think it's right- The president said you wouldn't get involved with the Elections-"

America shook his head, still seemingly befuddled, but Canada could see the sheer amusement. "…It's just a red hat. I bought it, like, five years ago."

"Y-Yeah, but it  _looks_  like that other hat, people will think you're endorsing a candidate!"

"Because of a  _hat_  that  _looks_  like  _another_  hat? I'm not allowed to wear an old hat I like because someone decided to put a campaign slogan on a similar one?"

"I-I get what you're saying, but I-I think you should be careful with what you do in public-"

"I can't wear a red hat anymore, because it might send an imaginary message, because of another red hat!" America turned to Canada. "I  _can't_  be the crazy one here, right?"

Canada shook his head with an easy smile. "I'm not getting involved with this."

The kid turned to him, as if seeing him for the first time. He probably was. "Where d-"

"He was there the whole time." America waved him off and continued with a slower pace. "I'm not going to pick what I wear based on what paranoid people  _might_  think. There's no 'in between the lines', no 'coded messages', you're being  _very_  unreasonable."

Canada glanced to the side discretely, saw someone recording this, and sighed with a long roll of his eyes. Great.

"I don't think I am…"

"I think you are. It's  _just_  a hat…!" America repeated, as if saying it again would somehow bring more light into the problem. "Endorsement is  _verbal!_ Not wearing a hat to send any 'coded messages'!"

As if suddenly noticing he was being laughed at, the kid let his face fall into his open palms, groaning. Dealing with America's subversiveness could be very tiring.

America apparently took some pity to that and sighed. "Okay, okay, look," He said, still amused. "I  _get_  what you're feeling, really do, but you're seeing things where there are none."

"If you understand, then how can you say I'm seeing things?" The boy challenged, crossing his arms.

"Because I'm  _also_  neurotic and paranoid, just about other  _different_  things, so I know the feeling." America droned back, lightly pushing the reluctant boy by the shoulder in another direction.

"My friends would agree with me…"

"Go make other friends, then." America sent him off – and he went with an exasperated sigh – then turned back to Canada, pointing behind him with a thumb. "I'm not the crazy one."

That poor kid was so tired now.

"No, you're not." Canada shook his head, now amused. He's glad at least  _something_  happened to put out the frigid mood between the two of them. America seemed much calmer. Canada went back and forth with darker thoughts before, but pushed that aside now that there was something else to do.

Both were back inside and soon on their way, now just a few minutes away from the apartment America lived in.

"Seriously." America began as he navigated around D.C. with ease. "If this is going to be a recurring thing, then  _fuck_  whoever revealed us. Really threw us under the bus…"

Canada raised an eyebrow. "You looked like you were having fun."

"I was! But still! If people bother me every single time I go out in public, it's going to get really annoying  _really_  quickly…!"

"Well, you're already the most famous Nation in the world, at least in the West side with how active you are. I thought you had adapted that quickly."

America shrugged uncomfortably. "Don't say that. I'm not okay with this. Being treated like a celebrity really rubs me the wrong way sometimes. A lot of people in my apartment building are like that. Wanting to shake hands or ask questions or whatever, and I like their enthusiasm,  _really do,_ but…" America huffed when not finding the right way to explain it.

"…Does it feel like you're just not  _made_  for this?" Canada turned just enough to watch his reaction from the corner of his eyes.

"Huh? Made for… What, for people to know we exist?"

Canada stopped to think, then nodded. "Maybe we  _are_  made to be anonymous, out of sight and out of mind for the majority. Maybe that's what's making you so uncomfortable? Too many people with their attention on you all over your country?" Canada had a hunch sometimes, that this was pretty much what he felt whenever he made it to national news.

Now America raised an eyebrow. "You think we can really feel  _all_  of that? With the distance?"

"Why not?"

"I can't even tell when someone's crossing my border from here, how could I tell if people are paying too much attention to me all over the country?"

"Just the sheer number. 300 million was it?"

"325, actually. I still can't tell what people are feeling  _that_  many miles away. And if  _I_  can't tell what the feeling is, then how could  _you_  tell? You just got 30 in a much sparser space."

"35." He corrected without thinking.

"Doesn't change what I said."

Canada sighed tiredly, muttering. "I'm just brainstorming." Personally, Canada thought it made sense. America did say in the e-mail that all the European Nations were in a worse mood than usual, all very ornery. They live in smaller countries, with tight populations closer to them. But then again, they might also just be worried about their future… "Do  _you_  have any ideas?"

"Nope. Too busy to think about it. If I'm not talking to people during the day, I'm working or reading at night, depending on my mood. It's been weird lately, though…"

"Have you been having mood swings?"

America hummed, still half focused on his driving, shrugging. "Maybe. Who knows? I normally have no problem following my schedule for months, but some nights now, I don't feel like doing what I normally do. I just feel a bit like…"

"Anxious?"

"I guess…"

"Like your nerves are being fried?" Canada himself certainly felt that way whenever there was the slightest bit of public attention on him.

"…Are you  _my_  shrink now?" He would take that as a 'maybe'.

Well, he did say people in his apartment were paying too much attention to him. Humans don't really notice Nations that easily, but when they do, their attention can be sensed by their Nation. Who's to say it doesn't happen through walls and distance as well? And who's to say that sensor firing off constantly from multiple sources wouldn't be aggravating and mind-numbing? Canada puts another point for his theory. "Do you read what people are saying online?"

America raised an eyebrow, but apparently decided to continue to play along. "Occasionally. Doesn't bother me too much, there's plenty who like me. I'm hoping to  _keep_  it that way." He glanced at Canada with a suspicious stare.

"Not that now…"

"…Okay,  _sorry."_ America shook his head with a sigh. "Anyway, we're here. Don't go invisible on me, alright? I'd rather not walk up there on my own."

"Hm?" Canada blinked in confusion, but as soon as they turned the corner, he found out what his brother was so worried about.

When America had said people in his apartment were paying him a little much attention, Canada didn't think it would be this…  _enthusiastic_  around there. The street was a bit crowded and America had to slow down.

There were two sets of people, it seemed, separated by  _police_. One on the sidewalk in front of the apartment building, and the other on the other side of the street. It was clear to see where the two Nations would be unwelcome, judging by signs and mean postures. He could see most ages of both genders on either side. The pro-Nation side, however, seemed infinitely cheerier to him. He even spotted a bright young man taking the opportunity to make a profit and sell some snacks. A Nation like America would certainly appreciate that.

Most importantly, though, Canada felt like they were all guarding the whole building, as if keeping it safe against those on the other side. There was positiveness there, but also  _protectiveness._

"Hello, sir." The sudden voice nearly startled Canada.

They were going slow enough that a suited man with sunglasses could safely speed-walk next to them. One of his brother's SS agents? America smiled and turned to the man. "Hey, Jamie. No problems, I hope?"

"Only minor skirmishes, sir, rowdy  _arguing_  if you will."

"Ah, I hope no one was harassing the locals here." America gave the man a pointed look.

"No sir, we've left the local residents to wander without bothering them."

"Good. Who else is here?"

Canada let his eyes wander over the crowd on the opposing side, to gauge the level of discontent. They seemed mostly peaceful, he spotted a few cameramen with their reporters talking to them, some which didn't have a logo he even recognized – maybe independent media sources – and he did see a couple of  _somewhat_  disguised youngsters mingling in, sunglasses and hoods or bonnets… Other than that…

Oh.

Canada quickly tapped his brother. "Look over there…!"

America looked at him, car stopping with a lurch, then turned to where he was pointing – someone with something in their hands- throwing it – and weaseled himself around the window and over the hood just to catch it in his hand. "Ha!" A rock!

Canada gaped and shrunk in his seat.

Jamie had backed away at the sudden movement but was quickly scanning the crowd, way too many who were watching the whole thing unfold with wide eyes as well.

America laughed, tossing it up a few times. "Aaah hahaha, that was  _close!"_  Oh, he was mad… Canada slipped out of the car slowly. America jumped out through the window, pulling the SS by the forearm before he could go find the fiend. "Nope! Park my car, Jamie."

The man turned back with minimal hesitation. "Y-Yes, sir."

America turned to Canada, who was already next to him and adjusting his backpack over his shoulders. "Could you get that kid to stop? I don't want to  _run_  after him." With every favor America asks, Canada knew his brother would be conscious of the fact that he'd  _owe_  him. Canada certainly could use a favor…

"Okay." So he agreed and began walking in that general direction, focusing on being unseen. America must have figured that whoever threw the rock would probably spot him first and then run, and Canada imagined that he didn't want to make a scene by running around after someone, especially with media around.

Canada certainly didn't want to be seen by them either. But a favor would be nice. So he rounded the crowd, seeing the culprit looking at America on the other side, who was casually dealing with other protestors who intercepted him as soon as he was alone. Small frame, clothes that attempted to cover his shy appearance without outright using a mask. He was turning to leave, so Canada stood behind and intercepted him. "Where are you going?"

The kid sputtered and fell back on his behind. "The hell…?!" The kid glanced at him with wide eyes then he looked back at America who was grinning like a shark as he approached, leaving confused protestors yelling behind.

He was being menacing on purpose.

Canada rolled his eyes. The young man got up and tried to speed-walk away, but Canada grabbed him by the hood, sighing. "I'm sure he just wants to  _talk._  Face it like a man, will you?"

The kid gaped at him, glanced back at America, saw the grin, and turned back, now sweating, hands together as if praying. "O-o-okay, man…! C'mon, that wasn't me, let me go…!"

He might as well have admitted it was. "He's not going to hurt you, calm down…" Canada wondered if his own people would ever be  _this_  scared of him. "You'll get a scolding, at worst."

That didn't calm him down.

"Well!" America began as he reached them.

The kid's shoulders twitched rather violently. Canada let go of him and he quickly backed away with his hands up. "L-Look, that wasn't me!"

"What wasn't?" America tilted his head with a fake puzzled look. "You mean this?" He tossed the rock up a few times before crushing it, which made the poor young man let out a squeak of fear. "Didn't your parents teach you not to throw things at people's propriety?" He  _wanted_  to scare him.

Considering the three of them were standing on the opposing side of the hypothetical fence separating the two disagreeing groups, Canada wasn't surprised when other people tried to get in the middle of their quarrel, as if attempting to protect and stand up for the poor victim that was America's current target, so Canada backed off before he could be surrounded. America stood straight and didn't back down. He had a feeling his brother would want to settle this before leaving…

Canada doesn't understand how he could not  _cry_  when confronted with this many citizens' disapproval of him. Just by hearing it, he knew most of these people did not like America as a Nation, thought of him as a threat, and America didn't  _seem_  to mind. He either didn't mind or didn't notice, Canada couldn't tell what was going on in his mind.

The words he was hearing made him shudder. He needed some  _silence_.

Canada went around the gathering mass of people and found an opening, where he tapped America on the shoulder, interrupting him mid-argument, although everyone around him kept on going regardless. "Can I just go upstairs?" He did not want to be complicit to his brother's confrontational habits.

America shrugged. "Sure, here." He dug into his pockets and pulled out a small key-bundle with a simple key-chain, tossing it to him.

"Thanks, try not to take too long." Canada walked away, waving coolly, America nodding and turning back to listening to his people's grievances with his very existence.

He crossed the road to the other side, keeping himself invisible as he passed by cops who didn't notice him, and then passing by those media folks who were interviewing this side of the fence, imagining that the camera would certainly catch sight of him, but they'd only notice once they rewatched the footage some other time.

It much less noisy and was friendlier-looking on this side, and Canada felt himself relaxing again, adding 'stay away from American anti-Nation protestors' to his list of cautionary advice for the future.

Once past the lobby and inside an elevator, Canada sighed in content with the total silence that followed, leaning on the wall behind him. Nice and quiet… The moment was over once the doors opened, he heard some voices down the hall. He frowned.

There were two apartments per floor, so that wasn't the problem. One was down the hall to the left, the other, down the hall to the right. America's room was to the right, and the voices were coming from… the right.

Maybe nosy neighbors waiting for him by the door? Canada walked out and towards them. It was a man talking, kneeled in front of a small child, brown hair, bright amber eyes… Canada tilted his head as he approached invisibly, eyes narrowing as something nagged him in the back of his head. There was something about the child…

Then the child turned to him and gasped, immediately hiding behind the startled man. Canada froze.

The man stopped as well, looking at the direction the child was looking, but his eyes never focused on the Nation. "W-What's wrong…?" The child didn't respond, merely whimpered a bit.

This child could see him. This child… is a Nation.

* * *

It had been nearly two hours from start to finish before America managed to untangle himself from that skirmish. He couldn't say he was unhappy about getting involved. Any time he managed to spend talking to his citizens and calming them down was a time well-spent.

He's always preferred to do things this way. When people protest, it meant something was wrong, so he enjoyed going straight up to them as asking what was going on, what was the issue, how to help solve it. If he could, he'd talk to who could help inside his government, or at least, that's how it was supposed to work. It's not as easy to find people to help in there these days.

But the familiar motion of talking to protestors hasn't changed. It made him feel closer to his people when he listened to them directly, even when they didn't know who he was.

This reveal really made this whole process more complicated, because as he just found out, there were plenty of people who weren't willing to  _listen_  to him, and  _specifically_  to him, so he lost that important appeal of anonymity. The notion that he could easily manipulate others made them even  _less_  willing to so much as  _consider_  his words.

They might as well have covered their ears and left singing 'la la la not listening'.

Luckily, America had some folks of online media arguing on his side, although that particular group only joined in after  _watching_  him and deciding he wouldn't be against them on political terms. He wasn't sure which arguments convinced them of such, but America was fine with it.

Only then he noticed he'd left his brother waiting, probably bored on his own – even if somewhat happy with the silence – so he had to cut the whole thing short.

Leaving the area took another additional twenty minutes to finish off whatever arguments he was having, then another thirty minutes spent mostly going through the  _other_  side, filled with people who actually liked him.

The overwhelming demand for attention firing off in his head made it difficult to leave quickly.

"I-I'm really sorry about this, I'll probably move out of here so these people won't bother you anymore-" America promised an older lady, widow, who lived on the third floor, the last one clinging to him.

"Oh don't worry, dear, this is no trouble!"

"Still! I wouldn't want this inconvenience here all the time like this! I'll just stay at the White House instead…!"

So… it was nearly  _an hour_  later since deciding to go back inside that he found himself in the elevator, the quietness leaving a buzz in his ears.

Before the doors even opened, he sensed an unfamiliar presence on his floor. His brother was definitely there, but so was someone else, a citizen, maybe? Something felt  _weird…_  The doors finally opened and America quickly walked across the hall to his apartment.

The closer he got, the surer he was that there was… something else. Really, what was it…?

Whatever it was, he wasn't sure he liked it.

The door to his apartment was slightly ajar, so America pushed it open and closing it with a bang, walking further in, and immediately zeroing on the weird citizen and even weirder…  _thing._

He saw a very startled man who had backed away into the couch and next to him was… America froze for a few seconds and then suddenly pointed. "What is that?!"  _That_ … the small one, it squeaked at America's tone and hid behind the couch.

"Uuh…" The man had also frozen as well.

Canada came from the kitchenette with his hands up, attempting to pacify him. "Calm down! We'll explain!"

America turned to him instead. "What?! Explain what?! What  _is_ that?!"

"Calm down!"

"Not until you tell me what's going on!"

"I will once you calm down!"

"Argh!" America turned away, unable to find a source for the anger to dissipate, so he resorted to pacing instead, eyes focusing on the general direction of the object of his anger.

That's a  _Nation…!_  But not simply a  _foreign_  Nation…! It was something else…  _He didn't like it…!_

America rubbed his face, ruffing, then pointed at the man instead. "You! Explain-!"

Canada interrupted him, narrowing his eyes at him. " _Brother!"_ He hissed as a warning.

America turned back to him. "This has nothing to do with you!"

Canada was surprisingly defiant. "No! Stop acting like a crazy person!"

The two unexpected guests remained in silence as the two brothers argued. America inevitably accepted that Canada wasn't backing down and threw his hands up in frustration, turning away and stomping towards his room, "Fine! I'll take a  _breather_ , then!" but took the time to point back at all three of them. "You all stay right  _there!"_

Then the door was closed and he was alone. After several seconds of taking deep and quick breaths, America grimaced as the situation dawned on him. He slid down the door, but pushed himself off before reaching the floor, taking his cap off and leaving it on the coat-hanger, going to the bathroom instead.

He needed some cold water. He needed to be calm so he could  _think._

He took his glasses off, leaving it on the counter so he could wash his face. The cool sensation was welcome, but as the previous feeling dissipated, he felt dread instead. He stared at the mirror with wide eyes, pushing his hair back with his still wet hands.

There was another Nation in his territory.

He was sharing space.

_Again._

He picked up his glasses, staring down at it, the possible future flashing before him. In just a century or so, that kid would be  _stabbing_  him in the back, just like…

America folded the glasses and left them on the counter again. No, don't think of that, that's not the  _immediate_  issue.

This had to be the  _worst_  possible moment for something so disastrous to happen…! He had his whole country's opinion of him to think about. What would this  _look_  like?! A teen celebrity ending up with a child behind the cameras, that's what it would look like! Even if he couldn't have children like humans, this might as well be a Nation's equivalent…!

The same level of  _scandal…!_ All the possible  _narratives_  they could spin around with this…!

He couldn't pretend the child didn't exist, and he most certainly couldn't even consider the possibility of getting  _rid_  of him! Even if he found the guts to do it, he wouldn't be able to keep it a secret forever, and once it was out in the open, as it  _would,_  he would be finished! So no, that was out of the question either way…!

"What do I do now…?!" He asked himself in the mirror, quietly so no one would hear on the other side of the wall, nearly pulling his hair off his head. "…People can't know about this…!"

The systems that were used to keep Nations a secret before were really good, and they had disbelief on their side, but not anymore… All the tools, digital or otherwise, all the information on them was all pretty much out in the open. He couldn't safely rely on those in  _this_  situation… It just wasn't trustworthy anymore.

America turned and paced in circles inside the small bathroom, glaring at the floor, shaking his head before stopping.

What now, what now, what now…?

He could  _ask_  them to keep quiet. But he hasn't even  _met_  the two… How could he trust them to just keep it to themselves for  _his_  sake? He's sure they'd get a lot of fame from something like this… Maybe a threat…? No, that doesn't work when he has a reputation hanging in the balance. Any idiot could throw the threat right back at him, since it's obvious he wouldn't  _kill_  them…!

America leaned on the wall, looking back at the mirror.

Nothing short of an assassination somewhere unknown would make the problem  _disappear_ , and even then, there would be risks. Any mystery can turn into a conspiracy, and any conspiracy could be pinned on him.

There was no way out.

He'd have to  _hope_  they'd keep quiet. He'd have to trust another Nation who could just as well try to take his place one day, steal his name,  _or_  one who could take off with his territory, off into  _succession_.

Well, America mused, it's not like he'd make the same mistake again… He wouldn't be giving an inch of space to anyone. He wasn't being  _paranoid…!_ He wasn't  _overreacting! This was dangerous…!_

Glancing at the glasses, he decided he'd keep that child confined to a small piece of land and make sure he never expanded anywhere else.

He wouldn't grow much, but that was fine. It was okay! Because  _America was the boss._  Not the kid. He was going to  _keep_  it that way. He wouldn't mess up like last time… They weren't equals! The other one needed to  _know,_   _accept,_  and  _ **live**_  with that…!

Okay, okay, okay… Calm down, he told himself and took a few breaths.

America then cupped his chin in thought. He'd have to keep the kid  _loyal_ , so he wouldn't go off making allies with the wrong people and taking up identities that went against him. Most of his educational system was pretty much against him when it came to teaching history, so he'd have to keep him out of any schools as well… His access to the internet was also dangerous… But social media is full of bubbles these days, keeping a kid stuck in one was easy enough…

But how long would that last, anyway…?

With a final deep breath, America adjusted his hair back to a presentable style and left the bathroom, leaving the glasses as well.

The conversation had stopped as soon as he opened the door. He heard quick scurrying as well, probably the small one hiding. America ignored that and made a bee-line to the fridge, intending of getting himself a drink, since he felt like he would need it.

"Are you calm now?" He heard Canada ask with that mommy-tone.

"Like a breeze." America droned, opening the bottle with his own hand, then leaning over the kitchenette counter. He glanced at the young man sending constant vibes of nervousness, raising an eyebrow. "So, you. What's the  _story_  here?" He swirled the bottle.

He couldn't keep that edge off his tone.

The young man wore a white cap, and had sunglasses over it, which he adjusted anxiously, seemingly taking a second to steel himself. Good, America didn't really like when people stuttered too much…

Let's see if he could keep that up, America thought to himself. He watched closely as the young man stood and walked up to him, hands going behind his back in a military manner. "The name is Kennedy Bach, sir."

America took note of that familiar discipline, imagining that he's served before, and nodded. "Where did  _he_  come from?" His eyes turned to the small figure still hiding behind the couch. Brown hair, not messy, just over amber eyes.

"Nevada, just outside of Dayton."

Another nod.  _"When_  did he show up?"

"Around 2006, we believe."

Canada watched from behind, his shoulders now less tense than before.

"Who else is involved?"

"Just my immediate family, sir. Parents, sister, wife."

Nod. "Alright, elaborate more on what happened."

Kenny, as America would call him, took a breath, nodding. "We first took notice of him in 2006, I was visiting my parents' propriety in Nevada with my wife- girlfriend then- and so was my single sister- still single. We thought he was a lost child, and we tried to get him inside the house, but he kept hiding from us. We called the police, but he was nowhere in sight when they showed up. We tried child services later on as well, but again, he wouldn't show up to strangers…"

Canada nodded in understanding. "…That's pretty normal, actually…"

Kenny had turned briefly to the other Nation, but quickly looked back at America, who nodded as well, taking a sip of his drink. Normally, child-Nations kept it to themselves, avoided human contact until their instincts told them it was safe to approach, which was usually until they learned to communicate properly with them.

They learned like any child – by listening.

"Go on." America urged.

Kenny nodded. "We couldn't find a way to either get to him or for a way to authorities to find him, but he accepted food when we left it for him, so… we thought maybe we had to win his trust, which took too long. Eventually, we had to leave our parents, they said they would look after him until they could figure out how to talk to him or find his parents. My father told us by the phone two weeks later that the boy said he had no parents, didn't know his own name, and didn't want to go with the cops or anyone else, and he just… 'decided' to keep the child and named him 'Kevin'." Kenny sounded exasperated at the end.

America scoffed. Not a name he'd have given a Child-Nation. Maybe he'd change it to something else. "That wasn't characteristic of him? To just  _keep_  a random child?"

"…Exactly."

America let a smirk form in his face. "So, the child didn't follow you, he stayed in Nevada. Is your father the one who… I dunno, decided to start his own country at some point recently?"

Kenny blinked in surprise, but recollected himself quickly. "He once said it was a childhood project, but only sort-of made it official in 1999. That's… how this works…?"

"Sorta." America narrowed his eyes. So Kenny was just the son… "What did he call it, anyway?"

Kenny's shoulders dropped, hints of more exasperation and some embarrassment passing though his senses. "…He called it 'The Republic of Molossia' as a child."

"Hm. At least it's not Socialist." America muttered and actually relaxed a bit. "Why didn't your father come here instead?"

Kenny sighed. "He's getting pretty old… I offered to make the trip."

"Your wife?"

"At home with the kids."

America nodded, the smirk turning into a more honest smile. He liked when families remained united, even more so these days. "Anything else?"

"Well… My father had been refusing to hand Kevin over to any authorities, he seemed pretty attached next time we visited a year later… He was happier than usual, and so was our mother, so… we stopped trying to convince him. Then in a few years, we noticed he wasn't growing up at all…" To that, Kenny looked behind, where the young Nation was peeking from behind the couch, still. "Dad didn't want the government to know. He was afraid they would… take him away and  _experiment_  on him or something."

"Damn right they would." America said, much to the man's visible shock. "Probably wouldn't have told me a damn thing either." He narrowed his eyes, glancing distractedly at the bottle.

America knew that there were people, inside his country, inside institutions like the CIA, who would love to know  _exactly_  how he ticks. They tried before; it didn't end so well for them…

Maybe having a smaller Nation, without the strength he had, would tickle their fancy. Creepy as it was… Another issue to be aware of.

"Yeah…" Kenny turned back to him. "So when this whole thing with the Nations blew up, we just connected the dots, and we thought, maybe  _you_ would know what to do…"

America nodded again, now more tiredly. "Alright, alright… That's enough for now."

A few seconds of silence. "…Are we in trouble…? My family and I?"

Leaning his head down, America sighed. "No, you're not." Then he stood straight. "Okay. Here's how this is going to work." America left the bottle and walked around the counter, going towards the couch, slowly, as to not startle the smaller Nation while Kenny followed further behind like a worried parent.

Kevin. He would  _not_  get used to this name… Molossia actually sounded better for a Nation, but he'd keep a human name for now. He couldn't even shorten the first one, so he'd call him…  _Nicholas._  I bit prettier and he could shorten it to Nick.

Yep. Nick it is.

"First, I'd prefer if you didn't advertise the kid's existence to the whole country. He certainly doesn't need fame, and he doesn't need any groups trying to get his attachment." As he approached the spot where Nick was hiding, the kid turned the corner with a quiet squeak. America just went over the couch instead, caught him under the arms, much to his panic, and pulled him up, placing him next to him. When he tried to move, America kept him there. "Stay there."

Canada looked over them, leaning back so the kid wouldn't feel too sandwiched between the two brothers. "…Just calm down, please." He didn't calm down and kept trying to get out of America's grasp.

"I-Is that normal…?!" Kenny asked frantically.

"Yes." Canada replied. "My father had to hold me for hours until I calmed down."

Nick kept trying to run away and America kept trying to keep him still. "Yup. Dad cornered me and sat down with me, for  _days_." Then the boy began to cry. America let out a long sigh, rolling his eyes. Was he like this when England found him?

"I always suspected you were  _born_  stubborn."

America smiled playfully for a second, he wanted to laugh, but he was busy focusing. He slowly let go of the child, who was rubbing the tears off his eyes, and waited.

England did this to him. Kept him corned and still, and then waited, and waited, for days.

Kenny was uncertain, sitting on the coffee table, rubbing his hands nervously. "I don't know… He doesn't look happy…! He's really uncomfortable…! Maybe I-"

Canada took the reins of that conversation instead. America didn't mind. He had been talking to the man for a while before America arrived.

"No, it is fine. It's just his instincts telling him to stay away from strangers. It was a bit more useful when Nations were killing the small ones in the Old World…"

"That happened…?!"

Canada sighed, glancing at Nick, who had curled up at the back of the couch, as if trying to stay the furthest possible from both Nations. "I think I shouldn't be too close, he's scared enough with just my brother. I'll answer your questions over there, then." He pointed at the kitchenette.

Kenny seemed concerned as he looked at Nick, but agreed with a nod.

America remained focused, his body turned to the boy. As soon as Canada was gone, Nick pulled himself further back, away from him, and as retaliation, America moved and sat closer, but still keeping a small distance. The boy's eyes wandered to the floor, as if considering trying to run again, but turned back to America and remained on the couch.

Good. He knows he's supposed to  _stay_  there.

Talking was no use for now, so America relaxed visibly, letting him know he was pleased with him staying still. Now he just had to wait until the instinctual part of Nick's mind stopped with the alarm bells, the danger signals and such. As soon as the boy's stress went down, America would relax more, to tell him he wasn't waiting for any openings to attack, he wasn't watching for weakness, and that would keep going until both were completely comfortable.

Then they could  _talk terms,_  after trust was established. Just like Capitalism.  _The kid_ _ **better**_ _like it…_

With nothing to do other than watch Nick and wait, America kept an ear open to Canada and Kenny, both who were watching the two from behind the counter.

"… _I guess it would be too mean… if he were a_  human _child. But really, this is normal."_  Canada explained, trying to calm the man. Kenny had been passing the image that he wasn't too attached to the boy, but he was, awfully so. Nick was probably just passing leadership from the man's father to the man himself. There was no proper solid government, so he passed it according to his personal liking.

" _-what he said… Why people shouldn't know about him, and why he shouldn't get close to any groups?"_  Kenny asked.

Canada turned somber, his eyes nearly pitying the boy.  _"There are plenty of people in this world who know how Nations work. Unfortunately, in this day and age, there are many groups who would want to use him… You see…"_  He turned back to Kenny.  _"Nations grow with identities, with groups of people they get attached to. If a separatist group got his attachment, he'd become one of them, they would help him grow and he would help them back, and in the end, he would want the group to succeed in their goal."_  He shrugged, but continued with some hesitation.  _"A small Nation can be easily manipulated… they don't know much about the world, they're naïve because they're still children. Any third party with power, even if foreign, if they wanted to break the country apart, they would fund any harmful group to get his attachment, then Kevin would just be poison inside someone else's territory, and…"_  Again, Canada turned back to 'Kevin', now Nick to America.  _"it's why the big guys used to kill the small ones. It was to avoid a future problem…"_

America could feel the chilling feeling of dread from Kenny.  _"…So if Kevin becomes a_  problem, _he… he would have to be killed…?!"_  He whispered the last word.  _"…But that's-!"_

_"I know… It's… unfair."_

Unfair…? Or maybe disgusting? What decent person wouldn't turn their nose up at children being killed for- For what? Causing problems? Being merely inconvenient? Hanging out with the wrong people?

…For being deceived? Led astray?

… _Manipulated_  into their own demise, unable to see the path because of their own innocent naivete?

Canada frowned, crossing his arms.  _"I guess the world is always cruel, even to children…"_

America blinked, focusing again entirely on Nick, who had his utmost attention fixated on America, oblivious to the conversation behind.

What he would do, if this child turned into a problem…? That's exactly why he wanted to keep him loyal, away from all possible influences, social or political, who could turn him against America.

Because the boy couldn't beat him. America certainly wouldn't  _let_  him.  _He didn't want to hurt him._  But that wasn't entirely up to him. He'd be judged anyway, though.

'That Nation would kill a child to keep himself as the dominant one'. That alone would give his government the chance to approach the boy, under the guise of keeping him 'safe'. Humans wouldn't understand… The insuperable instinct for survival that Nations had. He wasn't  _capable_  of risking his life like this, no matter how much he  _didn't_  want to hurt the kid.

But they wouldn't care. The damage would be done. Nick would be in the hands of those who could  _use_  him. In the end of  _that_  road, America knew, he would be ending this child's life.

How many in his country would stand with him then…?

Nick watched him, and America wondered if his moment of distraction let his thoughts pass freely through his face. He hoped not.

He couldn't show  _weakness._  The kid needed to know who the  _boss_  was. America needed his loyalty… He needed…

Nick blinked, his shoulders finally relaxing. America raised an eyebrow lightly. After a few tense seconds, the boy crawled his way closer, sitting right next to him, looking up with now big curious eyes.

Trust. So quickly…?

America felt his brows knitting upwards without his consent. The memory that pushed itself to the front of his mind was of him and England, America still small enough to be carried following him around, and he remembers the feeling of safety, loyalty,  _attachment_.

Just sitting with him for days to gain his trust didn't bring  _any_  of that. That wasn't it… Just trust wasn't what got attached to England in the first place, it was… It was…

He had been focused on the future, the worst possible aspects of it, the darkest possible paths. The thought didn't quite occur to him with such startling clarity until seeing the wide curious eyes up close, asking him to make the next move in this exercise of trust…

Ah shit…

This was  _his_  kid.

And he had  _no idea_  what to do about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (11/04 UPDATE)
> 
> Concerning the November 4th issue, the supposed 'Day of Revolution' marked by Antifa.
> 
> I had my doubts that something big would even happen, but I worried that someone would get hurt at some point. So I just left out a note as a heads up. But it seems like it was a big dud. Nice going, Antifa losers. There's some buzzing that it might be a diversion, for a surprise attack, maybe using the 'Boy Who Cried Wolf' tactic against people.
> 
> Either way, I will still expect Terrorist Attacks from these people in the future.


	27. Children & Adults (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, I'm free from my real-life issues!
> 
> I was actually free 10 days ago, but since I had been putting off watching My Hero Academia since August (because of said issues, yes, they were there since then), I could finally watch it now, and I… sort of binge watched the shit out of it three times. 
> 
> Then read the manga. Then read fics. Then watched some reacts and other videos related to the show. It was just so epic. I don't regret it one bit. :'D That show touched my heart on a personal level. I might write some stuff here one day.
> 
> Anyway, I can finally get started with this little story arc. Two or three chapters, tops. I have some sweet plans for this one…

**Blackpool – North of Liverpool (UTC +1) 10:22 a.m.**

Flying was not pleasant.

At first, Wy was fascinated with the things. She had never seen them up close before. Only saw them in the distance, far into the sky. She hadn't heard much about them, either, but their shape reminded her of the birds singing from the trees in her backyard.

However, it didn't take long for Wy to make a 180 turn just a little while after taking off.

Flying was just  _not_  pleasant… at all…

She felt uncannily uncomfortable and anxious, in a way that was very difficult for her to express with words, and it only got worse and  _worse_  as the flight went on.

Her father told her she just missed home. Being so far from it, at her age, for the  _first_   _time,_ would probably be uncomfortable for a while. But he assured her she would get used to it and wouldn't feel like this again.

It didn't make it any better.

So she chose to sit over him, since his presence was the only familiar feeling she had – besides her brother, but she wasn't sitting on him, he'd probably just push her off anyway.

Her father told her that Hutt was just too proud to share space; daddy, on the other hand, didn't mind holding her close.

Wy sat with him the whole time, even after the gnawing feeling in her gut diminished to a  _minimally bearable_  emptiness.

But it was nearly a whole day flying. Apparently, they flew over an ocean and a whole continent. The 20 hours were spent sleeping, eating, talking, and failing to pry that hand-held game from her brother before her father convinced him to share it for a little while – which proved to be extremely difficult, proving the older Nation's earlier assessment of the boy.

Because of that, by the time of their landing, she could walk on her own without clinging, despite the still present discomfort. She assumed she would be fine as long as she stuck close enough to her family.

Leaving the plane and walking on land felt just as strange, although not  _hollow_  like flying. There, she was at least close to  _something_.

Wy looked around the airport as they walked, holding her father's hand and staring curiously at the new sights, wondering.

Her own little home had one feeling to it. It was…  _home_ , for the lack of a better term. Outside, it was all her father's presence, and at her brother's, there was another different aura to it that belonged only to her brother.

Besides the immediate visual differences, this place  _felt_  different, the aura around it was different, the land was different, and the air was different.

It was somewhat dreary if compared to home, as if it was perpetually on the edge of rainy. The air wasn't as dry as Sidney's and the aura on the land was unfamiliar. It was like meeting someone new, and she wondered if she would get the same sensation wherever she went in the world.

She still couldn't sense anything outside of that, though. This was something that actually bothered her for a long,  _long_  time.

The 'humans'.

Her father had told her that this is what they're called, but also told her not to worry herself too much with why they were called differently for now. They're citizens, people who belong to a 'Nation', such as herself.

It was… confusing.

Wy turned to her father, who she still followed closely as he led her. He had a different…  _feeling_ , when she compared it to anyone else. He was  _bigger,_  she'd say. Or maybe  _stronger_ was a better word. He  _was_  scary at first, too.

That last feeling numbed down with time… After that, she could barely understand why she was so scared in the first place.

She turned to her brother following behind, eyes glued to the phone, as usual… He was also bigger, just not  _nearly_  as much. It wasn't even close. When compared to her dad, he was so tiny that she was never  _really_  scared of him, which is why she had no problem challenging him from time to time.

Even if he was pretty mean.

Both felt unique. She could distinguish easily. She could even distinguish stress, if it was just strong enough and if she was just close enough.

Then she turned back to the 'humans', as did her thoughts. The ones she lived with, she liked them, they felt… warm – they were all very similar, not individually distinct like her father and brother – and she was learning to distinguish between all the signals she got from them.

As her father taught her, she's reading their emotions, and she had to learn to associate each signal with each emotion, and she had to do it on her own, as every Nation had a different and unique experience that he couldn't quite explain, not in any way that taught  _her_  how to associate each accordingly.

She was learning fairly quickly on her own.

But then, there were  _these_  humans around her. There was…  _nothing_. She couldn't catch any signal at all. She tilted her head, brows furrowing in thought.

They were weird to her…

Why were the ones she lived with and these in front of her so different, and yet, had the same definition of 'human'? Most importantly yet, why were they –  _all_  of them – different from her and her family to begin with…? Why the differentiation?

Even the ones who belonged to her father – and how they 'belong', anyway? – she couldn't really recognize like that. These were the same, if not even  _more_  invisible to her senses.

Then, her father's mood suddenly changed, like a slight chill running through her hand holding his. Wy looked up and turned to where he was staring. She saw a human walking up to them, in dark formal clothing and polished looks.

Her father turned back to her and her brother, his expression strained. "Alright, kids. I'll have a chat with that bloke over there. You two behave and stay  _within_  my range, you hear?" With that, he let go of her hand and left them alone.

With her anchor of familiarity gone, Wy took a step closer to her brother. "Who's that?"

Hutt looked up and narrowed his eyes at the man, and then shook his head. "Probably some government official. Nothing that concerns us." He walked off, Wy gasped and followed closely.

"Daddy said to stay close." She couldn't help but comment. She wasn't sure he should be walking off like that…

Hutt scoffed in that haughty manner of his, nose in the air. "His range is pretty big. We're fine."

She walked behind him, unaware of where he was going until she caught a smell in the air, cheese and caffeine and sugar if she had to guess, and they soon found a small station that sold coffee and small baked goods.

"Oh, I want one!" Wy chirped with her eyes twinkling, closing in and leaning over the glass, standing on her tip-toes to see better.

"Do you have any money?"

She turned to him and her smile diminished. "It's with daddy."

Hutt gave her that mean grin. "I'll pay for you if you can reach the counter."

Wy looked up and measured the distance. She was too small to reach it and even jumping seemed off limits… "I can't reach that high…!"

He waved it off. "Sure you can. Just jump."

"No, I can't!" She crossed her arms.

"I could when I was your size." He crossed his arms as well, staring down at her.

"You're lying!" She stared back heatedly.

"I'm not."

After a few seconds, Hutt had his fun, amusement obvious on his face as he rolled his eyes at her. "Alright,  _fine._  Pick something, fast." With that, he took some notes from the pocket inside his jacket and leaned over the counter.

He wasn't tall enough to lean too comfortably over it, but he could reach it just fine.

Wy huffed and turned back to the glass. "Cheese puffs!" She called.

Hutt nodded just as an attendee came to get their order. She couldn't quite see said person from that angle…

Wy shook her head. She's got her victory over her brother for once, at least. Well, she admitted, he kinda  _let_  her win, but a win is a win. The battle over with and nothing else to do, Wy turned and walked a few steps away, looking at her feet.

Then, she saw a shadow approaching and she froze when she couldn't sense anything. There was something behind her, and she didn't know… Something… behind…

"H-Hey, excuse me-" An unknown man.

She looked up quickly and something in her head snapped. Before the man could say anything else, she squeaked a high-pitched noise and ran back to Hutt.

Her hands trembled as she pulled at his jacket, and he seemed startled, nearly stepping away. "What is it now?" He sounded exasperated.

She didn't want to speak and just shook her head.

What was that, she didn't know… It was terribly uncomfortable, her legs acted out on their own, and that's all she knew of that. She was  _surrounded_  and for a second of distraction, she had forgotten.

She couldn't sense them, but they were there…

Hutt sighed loudly, then turned to look, and so did Wy, finding not one stare, but several. It didn't seem to have the same effect on her brother, because he quickly smiled.

The man who had approached her was accompanied by a woman, which distressed Wy even more because she did not see that there was  _another_  person so close.

"I-I'm so sorry, we-I didn't do anything, I just wanted to ask something-!"

Wy whined and hid further behind Hutt, avoiding the sight of the people around her.

Hutt didn't seem to notice. In fact, he didn't seem bothered at all.

"No problem, it wasn't your fault. But we can't talk to strangers, so, bye~!" Then he turned back to the counter to wait, expertly ignoring the world around in the way he usually did.

Those two backed off, one with a phone in hands. She saw a flash from the corner of her eye and hid again.

Wy remained partially hidden, focusing on her brother's presence and on her wild heartbeat, but briefly looked up again, only to see what she could identify with either bafflement or surprise, or maybe something else similar.

Another flash somewhere.

"…And all of that was recorded…" Hutt glanced at her. "…You'll have to get used to that." It was all he said as he was handed their order – by an equally wide-eyed woman – a medium cup of coffee for him, and a small paper bag of cheese puffs, which he handed to her.

She took it and followed him closely towards an empty table, her shoulders hunched as she sat with her back to the stares. She noticed her hands were still shaking slightly. "…Why are they staring…?"

"You made too much noise, obviously. And, of course, we're a novelty. " He took a sip, not caring in the slightest.

Wy took one ball of cheese to munch on, eyebrows creasing at her brother's words. She understood that it was difficult for humans to notice her when she was too quiet, but…

He understood that she was confused about something and shrugged. "Humans aren't actually supposed to know we exist, but since two months ago, this is the new norm of modern politics, so… you're just not very lucky, being born nowadays."

Wy frowned. She didn't know about any of this… Her humans at home didn't like talking about 'politics', and usually said she was a little too young to be dealing with this stuff.

Daddy also said the same.

Wy continued to eat, hesitating, with the same thought floating in her mind. She couldn't tell if there were any stares at this point. She couldn't tell who was behind her, and… that was  _unnerving._

Why couldn't every one of them be like the humans at her home…? Or a better question yet, why were they so different from her and her family to begin with…?

She decided that since Hutt was older, maybe he knew. "Why aren't they like us?" She could distinguish her father and her brother. She could feel it, they  _existed_ , and so did the humans she lived with… They weren't like  _these_  humans…

She wasn't looking. Part of her could say they weren't there at all, but she knew they  _were._

If she weren't looking at them, or hearing their voices, then it was like they didn't exist at all… And yet she knew they were right  _there…!_

"Huh?" Hutt looked at her as if she were an idiot, but it was like he did that on principle, because that only lasted for a second before he turned to the humans as well, now considering her words. His brows furrowed as he turned to her again, his tone calm and quiet. "Father said they were here  _first_ , so… Why aren't  _we_  like them?" He shrugged.

Wy tilted her head again. "…How  _are_  they?" She didn't know how to better phrase this question.

"Hmmm…" Hutt pushed some hair behind his ear. "Well, the humans who live with me said that they can't tell anything apart from  _themselves._ Not like  _we_  do." At her confused look, he rolled his eyes dramatically with a sigh. "That means they can't  _fell_  the place they call home, they can't  _sense_  the people around them, or anyone's emotions. They can only perceive  _themselves_ , their own emotions, basically. They can read other's emotions based on body language cues, facial expression, and tone of voice, but they can't…" He stopped to think for a second. "… _feel_  the world around them like we do. If you take the five basic senses from them, they'll be in a void, because they don't have that last one we have, the one you sense things with, like… that aura of sorts, you know?" Hutt sat back down, eyes back on his phone again.

Wy blinked at him. Not able to feel the emotions of those close to them? Not able to sense the aura of the land and their home? But…

Her brows knitted upwards. "What about the ones I live with?" They could tell, right? They were special, she  _felt_  it.

Hutt shrugged once again, without looking at her. "They perceive you differently, not like you perceive me and our father. It's different. You just have a connection with them because they call  _your_  home _their_  home, but they're no more special than these humans around us. If they leave for good, you won't be able to tell anymore."

Her shoulders dropped. "But that sounds so…" Empty.

"Yes. Seems awfully miserable to me… I guess we're lucky to  _not_  be like them…" Hutt's tone became a bit soft, but he shook his head and went back to ignoring her, eyes on the phone.

She could tell he closed himself off.

It seems she knew next to  _nothing_  about the world outside of her home. What she now knew made her anxious. She didn't know her own kind, much less another one. The more she learned, the weirder and scarier things were.

So she waited anxiously for their time to leave, ignoring the creeping feeling on her back, having eaten all the puffs by the time her father approached them.

"Alright, kiddos, we have a ride… it seems." He didn't look very happy with that, although he didn't look angry either. He blinked as he eyed their lunch, and then turned Hutt. "You exchanged currency back home?"

"Of course." Hutt chirped with a smile but didn't comment any further as he stood from his seat, still holding his coffee.

Wy still kept seeing occasional flashes from somewhere, and a quick look was enough to spot a camera, those big ones she sometimes saw on TV. Her eyes wandered to see if attention was still directed at her, and immediately turned away again, clutching the empty paper bag as she followed behind.

From the corner of her eye, she suddenly saw a small smirk on Hutt's face. "You owe me money, by the way." He said. She didn't like his tone…

Wy narrowed her eyes at him. "That wasn't  _your_  money. It was daddy's." And he had said she didn't need to pay anything back.

Hutt shook his head. "Nu-uh. It was mine."

Instead of arguing, she immediately turned to who knew better. "Daddy!"

Her father turned to shrug helplessly at her. "It  _was_  his, actually. He has tourism."

Wy turned to glare at her brother.  _That's_  why he accepted buying for her…! "you snake…"

Hutt preened under her insult and poked her on the forehead, hard enough to make her stumble away a bit. "You should watch who you do business with."

Wy crumbled the paper bag into a ball and threw at his forehead as retaliation.

It didn't hurt him but he did look surprised, then he scowled. "Brat…!" He approached to loam over her, cup of coffee raised for an offensive move.

Wy backed off, feet apart and fists up, readying herself to dodge-

Hutt was grabbed by the jacket and she was pulled off the ground by the arm. Their father stood taller than both. "Enough of that, this is an  _airport_ , not the outback. You two  _behave."_

Then he let go of them, Hutt huffing and adjusting his clothing, Wy falling back on the ground on her feet easily and crossing her arms.

Their father glared at both for a few extra seconds, then turned to Wy. "You pick that up." He pointed at the ball of paper.

Wy pouted but did as told. Her father nodded in satisfaction and continued on his way.

As soon as he wasn't looking, Wy followed and stuck her tongue out at her brother, and he crossed his arms, muttering something that sounded like 'crass' as he followed as well.

Wy was never doing business with her brother again.

* * *

Sealand narrowed his eyes, raising the remote to change channels again. Now, it was back to the news channel, where he'd started many minutes ago.

With a loud sigh, he sprawled himself on the couch in boredom, ignoring the droning from the TV. As usual, there wasn't much to do at his father's home, whichever home it happened to be. The man couldn't even bother to have a game console…

One would think that there would be some polite courtesy and the man would give him something equivalent to spend his time with, since smartphones were off limits.

Sealand couldn't use the phone because accessing the internet wasn't really allowed during family meetings, which was just  _painfully_  boring, at least while he had no one to play with. He was hoping Hutt would arrive soon, so he would have something to do.

But even then, he still wasn't allowed to leave the house, or play with guns, not even BBs, or play with other weapons, so… None of the  _fun_   _stuff_  was allowed, and it has been this way for quite a while.

Now he was just killing time.

But killing time was killing  _him_  instead, with the fact that there was absolutely  _nothing_  to do…!

News grew old fast. It was fun at first, seeing them talk about Nations, but eventually, the novelty wore off for him for him. It was much more fun to simply go back to Reddit and reveal himself to his many online friends.

Of course they didn't believe him at first, so he streamed his home for them, showing he was actually in the  _famous_  and very  _real_  country of Sealand. Since there were some doubts, he showed himself as well, and the bright colors that were natural to his kind served their purpose.

He quickly became popular.

Apparently, he was  _cute_. Sealand scoffed. He wouldn't classify himself as 'cute', he's served the military after all, and so, he's a  _veteran soldier_.

Soldiers aren't 'cute'.

While sprawling himself further on the couch and sighing out loud for the eleventh time that hour, Sealand heard knocking on the door. He blinked, and then sat up, muting the TV and looking in the direction of the archway that led to the hallway and the stairs.

Sealand couldn't hear anyone coming.

His father was still upstairs, possibly reading, and Uncle Wales was probably busy with something else in the backyard or in the kitchen.

So he left the couch, going out into the hallway and out in the adjacent room, looking towards the door. Clearly, someone was behind, but not a Nation, that's for sure. He looked to the kitchen door to the left.

No one was coming.

Back into the hallway, no steps coming down the stairs.

Sealand shrugged and walked up to the door, opening it himself.

He found a tall suited man looking at his phone – everything kept reminding him that Sealand wasn't allowed to do that – who then turned to look down at him, blinking in surprise.

Well, since Sealand was the one there, he might as well deal with it. "Hello. Can I help you?" He greeted politely.

The man blinked again but quickly recovered and gave him a smile, phone pocketed. "You must be… Peter Kirkland, no?"

Sealand narrowed his eyes lightly. He's been told to stick to human names, especially with strangers… "Yes?"

The man continued to smile, his tone mildly chipper. "I wish to speak to your father, however… since  _you're_  here, maybe I could ask you how you're doing?"

Sealand raised an eyebrow. Not what he was expecting… "I'm doing fine."

"Really…" The man nodded, leaning closer to his level with hands on his knees. "Is your father treating you well? Is… everything  _well_  here?"

The man kept diverting his eyes as he attempted to formulate this question, although if he wanted information, there were better ways to try and pry it from someone. His tone made Sealand think that he was attempting to keep things  _innocent_  and  _simple_ , as if a more direct dialect would spook Sealand into running off, but it was just coming off as strained.

…This man wasn't very good with children, Sealand concluded.

Either way, if he wanted to know how his father was treating him, he didn't see any harm in saying it. "He's a jerk, but it's fine." Sealand shrugged. "Although, I wish he had some video games for me to play, but I  _guess_  that's asking for too much." He put his hands inside his hoodie's pockets and rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh.

The man nodded, apparently interested. "Ahh, jerk how?" He leaned just a bit closer.

Sealand leaned away in response. "Uhm… Well," Jerk how…? He scratched the back of his head in thought. There were plenty of ways in which his father was a jerk, from the way he spoke to him sometimes, to even ignoring him or not taking him seriously, but did this man want to hear  _all_  of it?

Sealand couldn't pick just one event to summarize everything.

But before he could voice these thoughts, he heard his uncle from behind. "Peter!" Then he was pulled away by the forearm, which didn't hurt, but still surprised him. His uncle, Wales had pulled him away from the door, his expression somber.

The suited man stood straight. "You shouldn't handle children so roughly, Mr. Kirkland."

Wales narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms, having already pulled Sealand behind, which indicated he wanted him to go somewhere else. But he was curious…

"He's not a  _normal_  child, in case you forgot." Wales responded, his tone soft, which was usual for him, but still left no room for challenges as he continued. "May I ask what is a UN official doing here this early?"

Sealand's eyes widened a bit, and he took a step back, hiding further behind the older Nation. He didn't know he was talking to one of  _those_  people.

His father  _really_  didn't like them. Often spoke ill of them, sometimes warned Sealand, cautioned him against trusting them or any promises they could possibly make to him, should he ever come into contact.

Always trust family and citizens before any other human or Nation, he said.

"I'm sorry, I do realize this is a bit early, but I require having a word with Arthur Kirkland. UN business, same as last year." The man shrugged blithely. "So, may I-" He gestured to the door and took a step forward, to come in, and Wales took a step aside to stand in the way.

"You may wait outside." Wales droned. Without turning away from the man, he spoke to Sealand. "Peter, go fetch your father."

Sealand took steps back, looking back and forth between the two, before finally running upstairs. _'What's going on?'_ , he wondered to himself, going straight to the study.

It was also a library, but Sealand rarely read books these days… The internet was more entertaining.

_No internet, though…_

When pushing the door open, just enough to peek inside, he spotted his father leaned back on the chair by the desk, rather inelegantly with his feet propped over it, which is something Sealand rarely saw…

His uncle probably wouldn't enjoy waiting for so long, so he hurried in. Just as he reached the older Nation, England took off an earphone and turned to him with a tired look. "What is it now?" His tone was also tired.

Sealand pointed back at the door. "There's a UN guy downstairs." England's eyes widened. "Uncle Wales is keeping him at the door."

With no further exchange of words, England adjusted himself properly and took off the other earphone, leaving it with the smartphone by the desk, then briskly made his way out and downstairs.

Sealand briefly glanced at the phone, but shook his head and followed his father. It probably had a password, anyway.

"You should stay out of sight." Sealand heard from him and stopped at the stairs.

England usually told him to be careful with UN people, as well as EU higher-ups. He was a jerk but he at least  _took_   _care_  of him and has quite literally never told him a lie, as far as Sealand was concerned.

That said, he felt inclined to  _listen_  to England whenever he was  _this_  serious… But he was still curious. So he walked down the stairs with more caution but didn't go further into the hallway that led to the sight of whoever was at the front door. He stayed there and leaned close to the wall.

On the opposite end of the room, he saw his uncle going through the door that led to the kitchen, and could already hear his father speaking up.  _"-just spout your rules and leave, then."_

Sealand could almost feel that animosity in the air, so if he had to guess, he'd say his father probably had his arms crossed and had a scowl firmly on his face.

He imagined that official still had that same forced smile.  _"No time for chit-chat then. Fine."_ Sealand heard him clearing his throat and began with a haughty tone.  _"On request of the United Nations, I am here to remind you of the rules once again this year."_

Ah. Sealand knows there are rules, but he's only ever heard of such from his father. Not… 'UN officials'.

_"Family congregations are to be strictly limited to once-a-year events. As you've picked the 10th of July for this year, this will only be allowed again after 11th of July of 2016."_

Sealand frowned. So it wasn't an arbitrary date his family picked whenever they felt like it…?

_"Non-familial congregations are limited to once every five years, which you've already used in May, despite the limited number of guests, and since it wasn't of UN demand, then it will be counted as normal, another gathering will only be allowed again by May of 2020."_

Sealand had to wonder why they weren't allowed to meet more often. Did Sealand himself fall under that category? He didn't know. All the Nations he ever met like this were family, which he met with every year.

_"Such gatherings, either familial or non-familial, may not last more than three days."_

So his family didn't decide that either…

_"Further commitments of those present to the rules passed forth by the UN council, Nations may not exchange contracts, have monetary transactions, or use the Internet for the duration of the event,"_

Aaand  _there_  it is. The reason why Sealand couldn't use his phone at family reunions… Sealand grimaced and held back a scoff, least it attracts attention.

The man continued to list rules.  _"-Nations shall refrain from keeping weaponry in the vicinity of the event, inviting third parties to the event, or leaving the perimeter of the event-"_

That was why no one could invite anyone, why Sealand and Hutt couldn't go out, and why reunions weren't as  _fun_  as they used to be, back when Sealand and Hutt could actually play in the parks nearby and do whatever they wanted to do, or play with weapons…

Is all the  _tedious_  stuff caused by these people…?

_"UN officials will be stationed outside of the perimeter, however, Nations may not refuse to cooperate, should they deem necessary to question or intercept any activities. I believe that is all. Are we still in agreement over this?"_

_"_ … _"_ A sigh followed by silence.

_"Are we in agreement or not?"_

_"…Yes, yes. We are."_ It came out as a gritted response, as if the man were holding himself back.

Sealand wanted to peek and puffed his cheeks with the effort of keeping himself still. He didn't want to be seen, as he was told to stay out of sight, but…

After a second of meager struggle, he peeked.

His father indeed had his arms crossed and stood exactly where Sealand had guessed. His posture wasn't as straight as he expected, though.

"Be sure that the rest of your family adheres to the regulations once they arrive."

"…Yes.  _Thank_   _you_  for reminding me, as you people do  _every_  single year." England waved the man off with his usual sarcasm-laced droning. "Now get out."

The man's smile widened, seemingly satisfied, and he leaned to the side, only to spot Sealand behind and give him wave.

England uncrossed his arms and leaned closer. The man immediately backed off, startled, a scowl threatening to interrupt the smile as he walked away. England closed the door, seemingly forcing himself not to do it too harshly, and after a few tense seconds, he turned to Sealand with a deadpan.

Sealand squeaked. "Sorry!" And he ran to the living room further inside and hid behind the couch, as if it would help him.

He was hoping England would go back upstairs, but he followed him instead. Apologizing again wouldn't make a difference, so Sealand peeked from behind the couch and waited for the scolding.

Instead of berating him for disobeying orders, England sat on the couch heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing before looking at him again. "You  _see_  why I tell you not to trust these people?"

Sealand's eyes wandered away. Okay, so… he  _wasn't_  being scolded. That was a relief. He moved from his spot and sat on the other corner of the couch. "Alright, the guy  _was_  weird…" Stress taken care of, curiosity made a come-back. "Why do they give us so many dumb rules?"

 _"That_  is a good question." England crossed his arms. "There are plenty of rules for our kind, which is why  _you_  should stay out of the sight of those who make those rules. As a Nation, you may have a natural desire to have  _some_  kind of power, however, the moment you do, you'll become a target, and you're too weak to handle that, which is why your country is not to be recognized as a real entity, even though  _you_  exist."

At the mention of his utter lack of recognition amongst the grown-ups, at being called  _weak,_  it was enough to ruffle his feathers and Sealand narrowed his eyes, lips curling. "But I can be just as good as anybody! You were my age once as well, so why-!"

England patted him in the head, just firmly enough to push his head down, stopping his rant before it could go on. "You don't know what you're asking for, lad. You're safe as you are right now, so it's best you  _remain_  out of the way."

With that, England stood and walked away, going back upstairs again.

Sealand huffed, ruffling his hair as if to rid himself of hsi father's touch, then leaned back on the couch, hands inside his hoodie's pockets.

What did those people have anything at all to do with being a real Nation who wasn't continuously looked down upon by everyone else in the family?

Did he mean to say he wouldn't be safe from 'enemies' if he was recognized? Was it from  _those_  people? They're an international entity, best at deciding who's worth listening to. Was that dangerous?

Well… What if he didn't want to be 'safe'? What if he wanted to be part of something bigger?

…What if he wanted to help and be useful?

He's been in the British military; he's even fought pirates to save his home once! He had history too! He wasn't just a  _useless_  kid!

He could fight!

But still… Sealand wasn't a fool. He knew there were constraints in his goals.

For one, he couldn't expand his homeland. The fact that it wasn't even actual land apparently made him a bit more vulnerable than other Nations his age… So… Sealand bit his lower lip at the thought. He couldn't quite grow up and stand up to the older Nations by himself. He's stuck with his current size and wasn't as tough.

For two, he didn't have an army, his home was too small for that, so he couldn't fight anyone on that scale.

For three, his monetary-needs pretty much  _depended_  on his father.

In short, he was asking for a privilege he was utterly unable to fight for, simply because of where he was born. All the older Nations had to fight for it, to prove they deserved to be heard. But of course, Sealand could do little other than  _ask_  to, at the very least, be treated as a voice that mattered, even if just a  _bit,_  even if always under the shadow of his family.

All who were pretty powerful on their own.

His family would  _occasionally_  listen to him, but only because they were  _family_ , and maybe even because of  _pity_.

But they'd never broadcast that to other Nations or to outside entities like the UN.

That last one… He could probably accept being left out.

Despite his family's habit of not taking him seriously, he wasn't childish enough to think they didn't  _care_  – well, Sealand certainly hoped that was the case – and if they wanted those people away from him, maybe there was some merit to that…

He'd choose to trust family once again…

But he figured that sooner or later, he'd have to choose for himself.

* * *

"…What's wrong, bucko? You've been quiet for hours."

Hutt turned away from the car window and the passing scenery at the question. Australia, whom he occasionally called 'father', was giving him a rather quizzical look. "Just thinking too much. Nothing I wish to share at the moment."

Australia raised an eyebrow, but nodded slowly. "…Okay. Just don't close yourself off too much, alright, kiddo?"

Hutt nodded back with a sigh, turning to the window again, crossing his arms and legs. He could tell his silence bothered the older Nation. Hutt wasn't so quiet last year. But he didn't want to unload his thoughts on the man.

He'd probably just talk to Sealand instead, the two being closer in age.

Sealand is technically his  _uncle,_ but Hutt effectively treats him like a cousin. They play like cousins, talk like cousins. Sealand only brings up the uncle-thing whenever he's trying to get an edge in an argument.

Hutt usually ignores it.

Blinking, he discreetly turns to Australia and  _Wy_.

Of course, she snugs very closely to the older Nation and seems pretty  _content_  with that.

He couldn't say he liked her very much. He wasn't sure why. Maybe he preferred being an only-child. Maybe he was a bit jealous of how much attention she got from his father. Maybe she just annoyed him on a personal level. He admitted it could be any of these, but either way, he preferred to not spend too much time with her.

So, he'd probably just ignore her as soon as they got to their destination, which was… right then and there.

The car stopped and Hutt wasted no time opening the door and walking out, taking a second to stretch his calves.

They had parked just outside the propriety, a few meters down the pathway. The house wasn't so close to the urban areas.

Australia and Wy were right behind, his father being the one to pick her up and place her down outside. Hutt held back a sound of aggravation. He wasn't treated like that at her age. Why was his father pampering her so bloody much?

_"Always protect your new sister, alright?"_

He held back a scoff at the memory. What does she need protection from?

The moment she makes a single noise of distress, his father is there to make everything better. He's there to give her comfort or money. No need for anyone else to get involved.

Besides… Hutt never got that. Australia taught him that he needed to figure out how to take care of himself without relying on him, and Hutt had always thought it was cool. It was cool and respectable that he had his own money, he was proud of it.

Quite proud.

But Wy always got everything handed to her.

Hutt turned away as Australia kneeled next to Wy, talking about how she should behave while interacting with the rest of the family. He didn't need to hear any of that, everyone was already fairly familiar with him.

So he walked down the path, and as he approached the gated space, he recognized one of the people there.

Three of them were suited men he didn't know, and one was his granduncles, Scotland, who seemed to be pointing and ranting at one of the men in black suits. As he approached, he could hear it his granduncle's brash tone, distinct as it was with his accent.

"-and if you even dare to come in without a decent justification, you can be bloody sure you'll regret it! Council's decision be damned!"

The man he was pointing at backed away slightly. "…We understand, sir."

"Ye better hope so!"

Scotland and England don't get along, not even with each other's citizens. This immediately came to mind when seeing the scene.

Scotland was apparently too busy to notice him or if he did, decided to wait until the argument was done. Either way, Hutt ignored the eyes on him and cleared his throat once he stopped near the elder Nation.

Scotland turned to him casually, anger vanishing from his expression. "Good day to you, lad." He waved with a smile.

Hutt nodded in greeting. "Hello, having a nice chat here?"

Scotland scoffed. "Ha! I wish. Come on in then, is your father coming soon?" He beckoned Hutt to follow and both entered the propriety through the gate, leaving the men in suits behind and ignoring their stares.

"Yes, he has a… 'surprise' this year around."

"Oh?"

Hutt shook his head. "Nevermind that. Where is everyone?"

Scotland pointed behind him with a thumb. "Just inside. It seems only your uncles from across the pond aren't here yet, but I'm sure everyone will be here by dinner-time."

Hutt nodded. "Alright, thanks, I'll go find Sealand. It's good to see you again, Uncle."

Scotland ruffled his hair. "Same here, lad."

Hutt nodded, adjusting his hair meticulously. He doesn't like having it ruffled like this, but Scotland was the only Uncle who  _completely_  ignored that. He was too chipper and smiley for Hutt to get angry, though.

Before he could go inside, the gates opened once again. Hutt sighed as he walked up the stairs to the porch and all the way over to the door, but stopped, glaring glassily at nothing for a few seconds before he turned to watch.

"And good day to you too, Au-What is  _that?!"_ Scotland froze and pointed downwards with wide eyes.

As usual, Wy hid behind Australia. If Hutt didn't know any better, he'd say she was afraid of her own shadow. But he knew out of experience that once she was simply  _familiar_  with someone, she became  _spunky_.

Australia rubbed the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. "Aah, yeah, this happened…"

Scotland laughed loudly. "How!"

"I got a big territory, things just happened that way!" Australia didn't seem bothered.

Scotland laughed a bit more before he crouched to Wy's level. "Hello, lass. I'm your granduncle, Scotland, nice to meet ye." He gave her a friendly grin and offered a hand to shake.

She leaned ever so slightly from behind her father's legs, then looked up.

Australia nodded. "It's okay. Everyone's family here, remember?"

Only then she accepted the handshake, nodding and then backing off again. Scotland chuckled and stood with the grin of a dork. "Oh, adorable little one…!"

Of course, everyone always melts for her.

"What's her name?"

"Wy."

"W-Why…? I just want to know…"

"No! Her  _name,_  her name's Wy."

"Ah. I feel like this won't be the first time you make that correction."

Sigh. "Agree…"

Hutt rolled his eyes and opened the door, leaving them to their conversation. Once inside, he could breathe in the familiar sent of the house.

He actually really liked this home. It was the one England usually picked for reunions such as this, and it was also the spot of Hutt's first visit abroad many years ago. It went through some renovations since then, but it had a feeling of being a solid structure in his life. Considering how much the world had changed in the last few decades, and even more so in the last few weeks, it was something Hutt appreciated at this point.

The first room was a bigger area with decorations but not much else other than the piano in the corner.

It had the hallway at the corner ahead and to the left, and to the right, there was a door that led to the kitchen, which led to the dining room, which in turn led to the backyard. In the hallway, there was the entrance to the living room, bathroom, and another door to the backyard, as well as the stairs that led to the study, and everyone's bedrooms.

Nothing was modernistic; in fact, anyone could accurately say it was an old man's home, just from looking at the decorations, walls, floors, rugs, or whatever else.

Hutt actually liked it a lot. It gave him a sense of comfortable nostalgia.

Then, Sealand suddenly poked his head from the hallway. "Why are you just standing there?! Come on!" And with that, he was gone again, just as quickly as he came.

Skittering off like that… Blinking, Hutt followed him into the living room more calmly. "I'll have you know, I was simply appreciating the structural design of this place."

"Yes, yes, whatever." Sealand waved him off.

Hutt's brows furrowed as he gave him a small smile with gritted teeth. This  _shorty…_  Always dismissing whenever Hutt used a more flowery vocabulary…

Sealand grinned. "I've been waiting for you." He patted the seat next to him, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

Hutt sat down, frowning. "What are you planning now?"

"Shh, don't be loud…!" Sealand waved his hands in an attempt to make his point. "Let's get down to business right now. You know how we're not allowed to leave, right?"

"Right." Hutt tilted his head.

"So, it's not our family that decided that."

"Huh? But I thought-"

"Right! I did too…!" Sealand leaned in to whisper. "But it's not! It's  _those_  guys outside…!"

They're usually there every year, a near constant for the last two-to-three decades or so. He always assumed they belonged to the local Nation, that is, their grandfather. The older and elder Nations never really talked about it…"The government?" Hutt raised an eyebrow.

"No, they're not British government, they're UN…!" Hutt gaped slightly and Sealand grinned. "They're the ones who make the rules,  _and_  dad doesn't like them,  _so_  I thought…" He clapped his hands softly. " _maybe_  he wouldn't be too mad if I disobeyed  _them_." He finished with a wicked smirk.

Hutt nudged his chin in thought, keeping his voice low and eyes narrowing. "Hmm… You want to  _sneak out?"_

Sealand nodded enthusiastically, crossing his arms. "Go out like we used to."

Well… That would be fun,  _and_  he wouldn't have to deal with his sister for a while. "But won't they notice if we're gone?" He questioned first, pointing at Sealand.

That didn't seem to detract his uncle/cousin in the slightest. "They get drunk every year on the first day, remember? I also feel like everyone's  _extra_  stressed this year, so  _that_  means…"

A smile was slowly creeping on Hutt's face. "That means they might even  _sleep_  a little bit…"

Both snickered.

They heard the kitchen door opening, and Hutt immediately recognized Granduncle Wales approaching. He showed up by the archway with a tray of snacks.

He gave him a serene smile. "Hutt, it's good to see you again…!" His tone was airy, like he remembers it being. "Here, you can have some rarebit, dinner won't be ready anytime soon, to be honest." He put the tray on the coffee table in front of them.

Sealand perked up and took one, it was basically toast with posh cheese. "We need Canada here, he's a quick cook!" Sealand spoke while munching on the food.

Hutt was a bit more refined and simply nodded while he ate.

Wales scratched his cheek with a sheepish smile. "That's what I'm waiting for." He kept the smile, but seemed to fidget on the spot for a second, blinking at the window.

Hutt already knew what he would ask. Sealand had a much smaller range for this sort of thing, so he's not surprised he didn't notice it while distracted.

"Is there… someone else with your father out there…?" Wales asked Hutt, his smile straining ever so slightly.

Hutt stared at the TV with a deadpan and nodded.

Sealand raised an eyebrow and turned to the window as well, eyes narrowing as he focused. "Oh, yeah… Now that you mention it…"

Rolling his eyes, Hutt swallowed his food before speaking. "Dad will explain the surprise."

Both Sealand and Wales followed Wy with their eyes through the walls, until finally, Australia came in through the front door. Wales shook his head and left to greet them.

Sealand turned to him, blinking. "What's the surprise?" Before Hutt could even open his mouth, Sealand spazzed off his seat. "No, wait, don't spoil it! I'll just go see!"

Once left alone, Hutt let out a sigh, taking another rarebit to munch on and leaning back on the couch. It was quite probable that everyone would be paying a  _lot_  of attention to his sister today.

Just another reason to go somewhere else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More context and information in the original News Feed entry on FF.net.


End file.
